.1 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


SUMMER,  PICTURES: 


FROM 


COPENHAGEN  TO  VENICE 


HENRY  M.  FIELD, 


AUTHOR  OF 

“THE  IRISH  CONFEDERATES  AND  THE  REBELLION  OF  1798.’ 


Ntbo  nbtstlr  anil  jenlargslL 


NEW  YORK: 

SHELDON  & COMPANY:,  115  NASSAU  STREET 

BOSTON  : GOULD  & LINCOLN. 

I860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1869,  toy 
SHELDON  & COMPANY, 

in  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


W.  B.  Timson,  Stereotyper. 


Podmey  & Russell,  Printers. 


TO  THE  COMPANION  OF  THIS  TOUR, 

WHOSE  FAMILIAR  KNOWLEDGE  OF  EUROPE, 

AND  QUICK  OBSERVATION  OF  LIFE  AND  MANNERS, 
MADE  EVERY  DAY  ONE  OF  INSTRUCTION; 

AND  WHOSE  E VER-BIJO  YANT  SPIRIT 

GAVE  TO  THESE  MONTHS  OF  TRAVEL 

ALL  THEIR  BRIGHTNESS  AND  SUNSHINE, 

IT  IS  MOST  FIT  TO  DEDICATE 


Wjs  5>oitatr  of  so  mucf)  ^Pappuuss. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PACK 

Crossing  the  Ocean  in  a Packet  Ship — A Night  on  a Pilot  Boat — 
Landing  at  Falmouth — Ride  on  an  English  Mail  Coach — The 
Atlantic  Telegraph  Expedition 13 

CHAPTER  II. 

Dickens  Reading  his  Christmas  Carol 28 

CHAPTER  III. 

A Near  View  of  Mr.  Spurgeon. 47 

CHAPTER  IV. 

English  Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship  of  Rank 
— Better  Qualities — English  Hearts  and  English  Homes 66 

CHAPTER  V. 

England  and  the  Continent — Normandy — Dieppe — The  Cliff,  the 
Castle  and  the  Beach — Rouen — Paris 81 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Changes  of  Ten  Years  in  the  French  Capital — The  Republic  De- 
stroyed—Louis  Napoleon — Improvements  in  the  City — New 

vii 


CONTENTS. 


viii 

paq  a 

Buildings,  New  Squares  and  New  Streets — Enlargement  of  the 
City  Walls — Military  Regime — The  Imperial  Guard — Zouaves 
and  Chasseurs — Chances  of  Revolution — Feeling  of  the  Nation 


toward  the  Emperor — Will  the  Empire  last? 91 

CHAPTER  VII. 

The  American  Chapel  in  Paris 103 

CHAPTER  VIII. 


Holland — Face  of  the  Country — Dikes  and  Canals — Energy  of 
the  People — Wealth  and  Commerce — Historical  Interest  of 
Holland — Her  Scholars  and  Painters — Wars  for  Liberty — Em- 
barkation of  the  Pilgrims — Friendly  Manners  of  the  People — 

How  the  Dutch  enjoy  themselves 110 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Leaving  Holland — Hanover  and  the  Georges — Hamburg — Beauty 
of  the  City — Its  Commerce 132 

CHAPTER  X. 

Denmark — Excursion  in  Holstein  and  Schleswig — Life  in  a Da- 
nish Parsonage 141 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Island  of  Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty  of  the  City  and  its 
Environs — Decline  of  Denmark  as  a European  Power — Attack 
of  Nelson  in  1801 — Bombardment  in  1807 — Loss  of  Norway — 

The  Country  still  Rich  in.  the  Elements  of  Prosperity — Points 
of  Sympathy  with  America — Settlement  of  the  Sound  Dues 
Question — The  King — Hopes  of  Scandinavian  Unity — Thor- 
waldsen 150 


CONTENTS. 


IX 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Crossing  the  Baltic — Germany — Berlin,  a Dull  City  except  for 
Scholars — Manners  of  the  People — Frederick  the  Great — The 
Prussian  Army — Political  Discontent — Signs  of  Revolution . . . 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Dresden — Position  on  the  Elbe — Beauty  of  the  City  and  its  En- 
virons— Attractions  to  Strangers — Picture  Gallery — The  King 
— The  Battle  of  Dresden 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Sail  on  the  Elbe — Prague — Situation  and  Architecture — The  Old 
Bridge — The  Jews’  Quarter — Synagogue  and  Cemetery — The 
Cathedral — Palace  of  the  Bohemian  Kings 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Protestantism  in  Bohemia— Early  Reformation — John  Huss- 
The  University  of  Prague — Huss  Burnt  at  Constance — The 
Wars  which  followed — Blind  Ziska — The  Thirty  Years’  War — 
Wallenstein — Present  State  of  Protestantism  in  Bohemia 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

Vienna — Contrast  with  Berlin — The  Imperial  City — Historical 
Associations — Tombs  of  the  Emperors — Maria  Theresa — The 
Son  of  Napoleon — The  Present  Royal  Family — The  Govern- 
ment— Failure  of  the  Revolution  of  1848 — Result  of  the  War 
in  Hungary — A Slow  Progress 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

From  the  Baltic  to  the  Adriatic — The  Semmeiing  Pass  over  the 
Julian  Alps — The  Grotto  of  Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
from  the  Sea — Canals  and  Gondolas — The  Square  of  St.  Mark 

1* 


PACK 

174 


182 


192 


203 


212 


X 


CONTENTS. 


PADS 

— Palace  of  the  Doges,  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs — Visit  to  the 
Islands  in  the  Harbor — Moonlight  and  Music 226 

CHAPTER  XVIII.- 

Another  View  of  Venice — The  Austrian  Rule — Celebration  of 
the  Emperor’s  Birthday — Illumination  for  the  Young  Prince — 
Hatred  of  the  People  to  the  Officers — The  Bombardment  and 
Political  Executions 239 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Verona — Its  Amphitheatre — Congress  of  Verona — The  City 
Strongly  Fortified — Campaign  of  1848 — Probable  Tactics  in 
case  of  another  War — Milan  and  its  Cathedral 245 

CHAPTER  XX. 

Lakes  Como  and  Maggiore — The  Battle-field  of  Novara — Abdica- 
tion of  Charles  Albert — His  Voluntary  Exile  and  Death — Turin 
— The  King  and  the  People — Hatred  of  the  Austrians — Part  in 
the  Russian  War — Crossing  Mont  Cenis 263 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Domestic  Life  in  France 281 

• CHAPTER  XXII. 

ADDED  TO  THE  THIRD  EDITION. 

A Bird’s-eye  View  of  the  late  War  in  Italy — Causes  which  led  to 
it — France  Joins  Sardinia — Troops  hurried  over  the  Alps — 
First  Engagement  at  Montebello — The  Allies  pass  the  Ticino — 
Battle  of  Magenta — The  Austrians  Evacuate  Milan — Battle  of 
Solferino — The  Armistice  and  Peace — Lombardy  Annexed  to 
Sardinia — Is  followed  by  Tuscany,  Parma,  Modena,  and  the 
Romagna — Present  Condition  of  Venice  and  Naples — What 
Italy  has  Gained  by  the  War 292 


ONE  WO  ED. 


Pictures — nothing  more!  No  “grand  tour”  here  drags  its 
slow  length  along.  This  is  not  a Iland-Book  of  Foreign  Travel, 
ponderous  with  statistics  of  strange  lands  and  cities,  but  a 
mere  Portfolio  of  Sketches  by  the  Wayside.  Most  of  these 
were  taken  on  the  spot,  and  sent  home,  in  letters,  to  America, 
which  may  explain  their  familiar  style.  The  writer  calls  them 
“Pictures,”  to  indicate  their  fragmentary  and  unpretending 
character;  and  “Summer  Pictures,”  partly  because  they  were 
taken  at  that  season  of  the  year  when  the  earth  puts  on  her 
beauty — but  still  more  as  a token  of  that  cheerful  light  in  which 
he  has  looked  upon  countries  and  men.  In  the  same  genial 
temper  may  the  reader  cast  his  eye  over  this  succession  of 
pleasant  landscapes,  warm  and  glowing  with  the  summer’s  sun. 

New  York,  May  20, 1S59. 


1 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Crossing  the  Ocean  in  a Packet  Ship — A Night  on  a Pilot  Boat 
— Landing  at  Falmouth — Ride  on  an  English  Mail  Coach — 
The  Atlantic  Telegraph  Expedition. 

Plymouth,  England,  June  7,  1858. 
Oun  passage  across  the  Atlantic  has  proved  one  of  the 
most  rapid  ever  made  by  a packet-ship.  Only  fourteen 
days  from  land  to  land ! At  first  the  fates  seemed  to  be 
against  us.  A storm  with  thunder  and  lightning  broke 
over  us  as  we  were  going  down  the  bay.  But  from  the 
hour  we  passed  Sandy  Hook,  the  winds  which  for  weeks 
had  been  blowing  from  the  east,  turned  to  the  west,  and 
continued  favorable  through  the  whole  voyage.  In  the 
Gulf  Stream  and  off  the  Western  Islands,  we  encountered 
heavy  gales,  but  as  they  blew  from  the  right  quarter, 
they  only  speeded  us  on  our  way.  The  scene  was  excit- 
ing, and  sometimes  fearful.  The  waves  went  booming  past 
with  a noise  like  thunder,  the  spray  rained  upon  our  deck, 

18 


14 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


and  the  winds  shrieked  in  the  rigging,  but  still  the  gal- 
lant ship  swelled  her  canvas  proudly  to  the  gale,  and  flew 
before  it  like  a bird  of  the  storm,  and  in  just  two  weeks 
brought  us  in  sight  of  England. 

Our  friends  who  are  going  to  Europe,  if  they  do  not 
fear  to  be  delayed  by  contrary  winds,  and  can  spare  a 
few  days  more  of  time,  will  do  well  to  take  one  of  the 
London  packets.  I commend  to  them  especially  the  fa- 
mous line  of  Capt.  Morgan,  who  has  been  himself  so  long 
and  so  favorably  known  to  all  travellers  between  England 
and  America.  Rev.  Dr.  Bushnell  once  told  me  that  half 
the  pleasure  of  a voyage  to  Europe  was  to  cross  the  sea 
with  Capt.  Morgan.  Since  he  retired  from  active  com- 
mand, he  has  resided  in  Kew  York,  and  had  charge  of 
the  whole  line.  The  ships  are  all  good,  but  one  may 
think  himself  peculiarly  fortunate  who  embarks  on  board 
the  Amazon,  with  Capt.  Hovey.  This  is  a ship  of  2,000 
tons,  very  stoutly  built,  and  of  such  fine  model,  that  she 
carries  herself  through  the  water  with  a steady  and  gen- 
tle motion.  Her  captain  is  an  excellent  seaman,  very 
quiet  in  his  manner,  but  with  a quick  eye  to  observe 
every  spar  and  sail  and  rope,  and  prompt  and  energetic  in 
the  whole  discipline  and  management  of  his  crew.  The 
ship  was  always  in  perfect  order,  and  under  such  excel- 
lent control  as  gave  us  a very  pleasant  feeling  of  con- 
fidence and  security.  Besides,  Capt.  Ilovey  is  not  only 
a brave  and  skillful  seaman,  but  a thoroughly  good  man, 
always  kind  and  considerate  of  the  comfort  of  his  pas- 


CROSSING  THE  OCEAN  IN  A PACKET  SHIP. 


15 


sengers.  I liad  crossed  the  ocean  with  him  once  before, 
on  the  voyage  home  from  England  in  1848,  and  was  glad 
of  the  opportunity  to  be  with  him  again. 

To  many  persons  it  will  be  a further  recommendation 
of  these  ships,  that  they  can  carry  but  a limited  number 
of  passengers.  A few  years  ago,  when  all  travel  between 
Europe  and  America  was  by  sailing  vessels,  the  London 
and  Liverpool  packets  were  fitted  up  with  long  cabins, 
which  could  accommodate  a large  number.  But  since 
the  majority  of  travellers  now  go  by  steamers,  the  cabin 
is  reduced  in  size,  though  perhaps  increased  in  conveni- 
ence. That  of  the  Amazon  is  built  on  the  upper  deck, 
so  high  as  to  furnish  the  best  light  and  air.  It  held  now 
but  little  over  a dozen  passengers,  yet  the  state-rooms 
were  all  occupied.  As  our  companions  chanced  to  be  all 
countrymen,  and  agreeable  persons,  there  sprang  up  be- 
tween us  a very  friendly  feeling.  There  were  just  enough 
for  a good  family  party.  At  their  special  request,  joined 
to  that  of  the  captain,  we  had  daily  prayers,  and  as 
we  met  thus  morning  and  evening,  or  gathered  around 
our  table,  we  seemed  indeed  like  one  household,  and 
sure  I am,  that  all  will  recur  to  these  two  weeks  on  ship- 
board as  a most  agreeable  chapter  in  their  lives. 

As  soon  as  we  saw  the  coast  of  England,  we  were  im- 
patient to  be  on  shore.  The  captain  knew  our  wish,  and 
offered  to  aid  us  in  its  execution.  We  had  hardly  en- 
tered the  British  Channel  before  we  descried  making 
towards  us  a pilot  boat  from  Falmouth,  which  hailed  us. 


16 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


and  asked  for  orders.  As  we  were  bound  for  London^ 
the  captain  had  no  use  for  a pilot  to  Falmouth,  but  asked 
if  he  would  return  into  port  with  several  of  our  passen- 
gers. Four  of  us  wished  to  go,  and  the  pilot  said  he 
would  take  us  in  for  a pound  apiece,  an  offer  which  we 
eagerly  accepted.  He  sent  a small  boat  to  take  us  off  to 
his  little  vessel,  and  we  clambered  down  the  sides  of  the 
Amazon,  Mrs.  F.  being  swung  over  in  a chair.  The  sun 
was  sinking  in  the  west  as  we  moved  away  from  the 
noble  ship,  and  our  friends  waved  their  adieus  from  the 
upper  deck. 

We  were  in  full  view  of  the  coast,  yet  we  had  some 
miles  to  work  up  to  Falmouth.  With  a cracking  breeze, 
our  light  boat  would  easily  have  taken  us  in  in  an  hour  ; 
but  hardly  had  we  left  the  ship,  before  the  wind  left  us. 
The  gale  which  had  borne  us  on  so  swiftly,  had  spent  its 
strength,  and  was  dying  away.  The  long  swell  which 
came  rolling  in  from  the  Atlantic,  subsided  into  gentle 
undulations,  as  if  the  waters  knew  that  they  touched  the 
shores  of  England,  and  sank  down  submissive  at  her  feet. 

If  I were  an  artist,  I would  try  to  paint  that  sunset, 
though  the  richest  colors  ever  thrown  upon  canvas  could 
not  approach  the  reality.  All  gloriously  sank  the  sum- 
mer sun,  resting  on  the  horizon  like  a globe  of  fire,  and 
casting  up  his  rays  into  the  clouds  which  hung  over  the 
place  of  his  going  down.  We  stood  up  in  the  stem  of 
the  boat  in  silent  awe,  and  seemed  transfigured  in  the 
glory  which  covered  the  sea  and  sky. 


A NIGHT  ON  A PILOT  BOAT. 


17 


As  the  sun  went  down,  the  breeze  went  with  it. 
Fainter  and  fainter  came  the  pulses  of  the  air,  till  at  last 
there  was  a dead  calm,  and  our  little  boat,  though  light 
as  a feather,  ceased  to  move ; her  canvas  drooped,  and 
like  a white  duck  folding  her  wings  at  shut  of  day,  she 
lay  sleeping  on  the  ocean’s  breast. 

But  we  had  still  several  hours  of  light.  To  the  golden 
sunset  succeeded  the  softer  twilight,  which  in  the  month 
of  June,  and  in  this  high  northern  latitude,  lingers  long. 
At  ten  o’clock,  its  pale  reflection  was  still  in  the  heavens. 
As  it  faded  out  in  the  west,  calm  and  beautiful  shone 
forth  the  evening  star. 

For  a time  we  had  kept  up  a brisk  conversation,  but 
as  the  twilight  deepened,  we  spoke  in  lower  tones,  and 
at  last  all  sat  silent  and  thoughtful,  watching  the  revolv- 
ing lights  in  the  lighthouses  along  the  coast,  or  turning 
away  to  where  the  great  phantom  of  the  ship  glided  on 
in  the  darkness.  We  saw  distinctly  the  houses  on  the 
shore.  But  all  were  hushed  in  quiet.  Not  even  a curl 
of  smoke  could  be  seen  rising  from  the  chimney-top,  and 
not  a watch-dog’s  howl  came  across  the  waters.  The 
people,  like  honest  Christian  folk,  had  gone  to  bed, 
where  we  ought  to  be. 

When  we  left  the  ship,  we  did  not  dream  of  passing 
the  night  in  this  cockle  shell.  A pilot  boat  has  but 
limited  sleeping  arrangements.  One  may  indeed  creep 
down  a ladder  into  a narrow  space  under  the  deck,  which 
is  dignified  as  “ the  cabin.”  But  a full  grown  man,  who 


18 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


should  stretch  his  limbs  in  it,  would  feel  almost  as  if  he 
were  laid  out  in  a coffin.  I tried  it  for  a few  minutes, 
but  was  glad  to  escape  into  the  night  air.  So  we  were 
fain  to  make  a sofa  out  of  a pile  of  trunks ; and  wrapping 
our  cloaks  and  shawls  about  us,  there  we  sat  all  night 
long,  muffled  and  still.  But  the  hours  did  not  seem 
weary.  De  Quincey  says,  that  often,  when  under  the  in- 
fluence of  opium,  he  fell  into  long  reveries,  from  which  he 
did  not  wish  to  awake.  “ More  than  once  it  has  happened 
to  me,  on  a summer  night,  when  I have  been  at  an  open 
window,  in  a room  from  which  I could  overlook  the  sea, 
that  I have  sat  from  sunset  to  sunrise,  motionless  and 
without  wishing  to  move.”  We  too  were  under  a spell. 
The  heavens  above,  and  the  waters  beneath,  were  full 
of  solemn  mystery,  suggesting  thoughts  too  deep  for 
slumber. 

But  look  ! the  day  begins  to  break.  By  three  in  the 
morning,  the  first  faint  bars  of  light  streaked  the  east, 
and  in  an  hour  it  was  clear  day.  We  found  that  we  were 
inclosed  by  the  arms  of  a small  and  tranquil  haven.  On 
either  side  the  hills  rose  up  from  the  water  as  fresh  and 
green  as  if  they  had  just  risen  out  of  the  crystal  sea.  In 
front,  a projecting  headland  was  crowned  by  an  old  fort, 
on  whose  walls  the  sentinel  ever  keeps  watch  and  ward, 
and  from  which  the  morning  drum-beat  rolls  over  the 
peaceful  waters.  We  looked  up  with  all  the  surprise  and 
delight  of  Coleridge’s  Ancient  Mariner : 


LANDING  AT  FALMOUTH. 


19 


“ 0 dream  of  joy  ! Is  this  indeed 
The  lighthouse-top  I see  ? 

Is  this  the  hill  ? Is  this  the  kirk  ? 

Is  this  mine  own  countree  ? ” 

There  was  a keen  delight  of  the  senses  in  the  first  smell 
of  the  land,  as  we  inhaled  the  odor  of  violets  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  morning  air.  And  hark,  we  hear  the  carol 
of  a bird.  It  is  the  song  of  the  cuckoo  ! 

The  pilot  now  got  out  his  small  boat,  ami  two  strong 
oarsmen  soon  pulled  us  in  to  the  shore.  But  it  seemed  as 
if  we  were  landing,  like  Columbus,  to  take  possession  of 
an  uninhabited  country.  There  on  the  beach  lay  a town, 
but  we  saw  no  sign  of  life.  It  looked  as  if  the  inhabit- 
ants had  all  disappeared,  and  there  remained  nothing 
but  silent  streets  and  empty  houses.  The  people  in  this 
quiet  nook  of  England  are  guilty  of  no  such  revolution- 
ary practices  as  that  of  getting  up  early  in  the  morning. 
They  u sleep  o’  nights.”  Indeed  the  English  generally  are 
famous  sleepers.  To  lie  abed  late  is  recognized  as  a part 
of  a sound,  staid,  conservative  character.  Such  men  are 
not  dangerous.  A friend  who  has  travelled  much  in 
England,  tells  me  that  the  greatest  drawback  to  his  hap- 
piness, is  that  he  cannot  get  anybody  up  in  the  morning ! 
Such  was  our  experience.  We  stepped  on  the  stone 
quay,  and  made  our  way  through  the  deserted  streets  to 
an  inn.  But  here  not  a living  creature  was  visible,  not 
even  a dog  to  bark  at  a wayworn  traveller.  Wo  shouted 
lustily  as  Young  America  is  apt  to  do,  but  could  get  no 


20 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


reply.  Soon  a policeman  appeared  to  check  any  signs  of 
riot  and  revolution.  But  seeing  we  were  but  houseless 
travellers,  he  came  to  our  help — he  beat  upon  the  door, 
he  rang  his  club  upon  the  pavement.  At  length  a win- 
dow opened  above,  and  a head  in  a nightcap  peered  out 
into  the  court,  and  a shrill  voice  demanded  wherefore  was 
all  this  clatter  ? Our  man-at-arms  set  forth  that  we  were 
voyagers  who  had  just  come  from  off  the  stormy  main, 
and  had  need  of  shelter  and  rest.  Whereupon  a light 
foot  tripped  down  the  stairs,  the  door  was  unbarred,  and 
we  were  admitted  to  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  an 
English-  inn. 

In  course  of  time  we  got  a breakfast.  But  you  don’t 
expect  me  to  enlarge  upon  that.  You  do  not  think  me 
quite  so  “ material.”  I wish  I wasn’t.  But  I must  con- 
fess, after  being  two  weeks  on  shipboard,  sleeping  on 
shelves,  and  dining  on  an  inclined  plane,  it  was  no  small 
comfort  to  be  able  to  sit  upright,  and  partake  in  peace  of 
a quiet,  civilized  breakfast.  This  morning  we  were  in 
the  highest  state  of  enjoyment.  Indeed,  we  were  like 
Adam  and  Eve  in  Paradise,  in  a state  in  which  every- 
thing was  pleasant  to  the  eye,  and  good  for  food.  We 
declared  that  the  bread  was  the  best  that  ever  was  baked, 
the  butter  the  sweetest  that  ever  was  churned,  and  the 
cream  the  richest  that  ever  came  from  good  motherly 
cows.  And  then  the  hissing  teapot,  and  the  fine  English 
breakfast  tea ! Ah  me,  I fear  I am  growing  “ material.” 
We  were  waited  on  by  a trim  little  maid,  with  whom  we 


RIDE  ON  AN  ENGLISH  MAIL  COACH. 


21 


fell  in  love  on  the  spot,  and  made  offers  to  take  her  to 
America.  So  we  talked  and  laughed,  and  shouted  and 
sang.  Indeed  we  didn’t  behave  with  any  sort  of  pro- 
priety. But  all  the  while  we  kept  on  eating  (of  course 
from  mere  absence  of  mind).  I thought  we  never  should 
stop,  and  felt  quite  ashamed  of  our  appetites.  The  only 
relief  to  our  consciences  was  the  satisfaction  of  paying  a 
good  round  bill. 

But  all  good  things  must  come  to  an  end,  even  the 
best  of  breakfasts,  and  that  source  of  happiness  being  at 
length  exhausted,  we  sallied  forth  to  find  the  coach  for 
Plymouth. 

Falmouth,  where  we  landed,  is  a little,  quaint  old  town 
in  the  southwest  corner  of  England,  near  the  extremity 
of  Cornwall.  It  is  one  of  the  few  points  in  the  island 
not  yet  touched  by  a railroad.  One  is  now  building,  but 
it  is  not  yet  complete,  so  that  we  had  before  us  the  unex- 
pected pleasure  of  a day’s  ride  on  an  old-fashioned  Eng- 
lish coach.  Coaches  have  almost  disappeared  in  England. 
Even  ten  years  ago,  when  I was  here,  I found  them  only 
in  Wales,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  and  I little  thought  ever 
to  see  one  again.  It  was  therefore  with  a sense  of  keen 
delight  that  we  mounted  to  the  topmost  seat,  and  saw  the 
burly  coachman  rein  in  his  mettled  horses,  that  were  pranc- 
ing at  the  bit,  and  heard  the  guard  wind  his  mellow  horn. 

To  ride  on  the  top  of  an  English  coach  is  an  experi- 
ence never  to  be  forgotten.  Dr.  Johnson  once  said  to 
Boswell,  when  they  were  thus  perched  in  air  and  whirl-. 


22 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ing  over  the  country,  “ Life  has  few  things  finer  than 
this.”  So  we  thought  to-day.  The  distance  from  Fal- 
mouth to  Plymouth  is  70  miles,  which  we  made  in  seven 
hours.  The  coach,  carrying  the  mail,  is  required  by  law 
to  make  ten  miles  an  hour  including  stoppages.  More 
often  we  were  going  at  a speed  of  twelve.  Up  hill  and 
down,  the  gait  was  never  checked.  It  was  generally  the 
most  rapid  trot,  but  often  it  broke  into  a furious  run. 
The  only  notice  given  of  mounting  a hill  was  an  extra 
touch  of  the  whip,  which  spurred  the  horses  into  a gallop, 
with  which  they  dashed  up  the  ascent,  and  as  soon  as 
they  reached  the  summit,  they  plunged  dowTn  in  such 
mad  career,  that  I griped  the  iron  railing  of  the  seat,, 
trembling  at  the  fearful  speed.  This  swiftness  of  course 
could  be  kept  up  only  over  the  finest  roads  in  the  world, 
and  by  frequent  relays  of  horses.  But  the  Queen’s  high- 
way wras  like  a floor  newly  swept.  Not  a pebble  jarred 
the  even  poise  of  the  coach.  The  horses  were  changed 
every  seven  miles,  and  wfliere  the  road  wras  hilly  they 
wTere  changed  even  in  four.  Thus  we  went  whirling  over 
hill  and  dale,  now  rushing  through  towns  and  villages, 
the  guard  startling  the  inhabitants  with  his  ringing  blast, 
and  then  sallying  out  into  the  open  country,  winch  wras 
smiling  in  all  the  beauty  of  early  summer.  To  heighten 
the  enjoyment,  the  day  was  one  of  a thousand.  The 
skies  were  clear,  only  a few  soft  clouds  shading  us  from 
the  face  of  the  sun.  The  hills  and  valleys  glistened  with 
fresh  verdure;  the  trim  hedge-rows,  the  smooth  lawms 


THE  ATLANTIC  TELEGRAPH  EXPEDITION.  23 

and  noble  parks  were  in  their  richest  green.  On  such 
a day  and  amid  such  landscapes  we  rode  for  seventy 
miles.  This  was  our  introduction  to  England. 

In  landing  at  Falmouth,  I had  another  motive  besides 
the*  mere  eagerness  to  be  on  shore.  I knew  that  the 
Telegraph  Squadron  was  to  rendezvous  at  Plymouth, 
and  I thought  it  possible  that  I might  meet  there  my 
brother  Cyrus,*  before  the  departure  of  the  expedition. 
At  Falmouth  the  Custom-house  officer  brought  me  the 
London  Times,  which  announced  that  the  ships  had 
sailed  a week  before  on  a trial  trip,  but  were  to  return  to 
Plymouth.  It  was  therefore  a great  satisfaction,  as  we 
drew  to  the  end  of  our  journey,  and  were  just  crossing 
the  river  which  divides  Cornwall  from  Devonshire, 
to  learn  that  the  ships  had  returned,  and  were  then 
lying  in  the  harbor.  As  we  entered  the  town,  I sprang 
from  the  coach  and  hastened  to  th^,  Royal  Hotel,  to 
seek  for  tidings.  Imagine  my  joy  to  be  told  that  my 
brother  was  then  in  the  house ! The  Directors  had 
come  down  from  London  to  complete  the  preparations 
for  the  expedition,  and  were  now  in  session  here. 
The  servant  had  not  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  before 
he  exclaimed,  “ There  is  Mr.  Field  now,  coming  through 
the  hall !”  The  surprise  and  happiness  of  such  a meet- 
ing can  be  understood  only  by  those  who  have  been 
alone  and  far  from  home,  and  who  in  a foreign  land  have 
suddenly  rushed  into  a brother’s  arms.  We  had  hardly 


* Cyrus  W.  Field,  widely  known  from  his  connection  with  the  Atlantic  Telegraph. 


24  SUMMER  PICTURES. 

reached  our  room  before  we  received  an  invitation 
to  dine  with  the  Directors,  and  in  half  an  hour  after 
our  long  ride,  we  were  dressed  and  sitting  at  our  first 
English  dinner.  Eight  or  ten  gentlemen  were  present, 
among  them  Mr.  George  Peabody,  the  well-known 
American  banker;  Mr.  Brett,  the  father  of  submarine 
telegraphs  in  Europe ; Mr.  Brooking,  the  vice-president 
of  the  company,  and  Mr.  Saward,  the  secretary;  Prd- 
fessor  Thompson,  of  Glasgow,  and  Mr.  Lampson,  of 
London. 

Such  a party  of  capitalists,  with  immense  business  on 
their  hands,  you  might  think,  would  be  very  grave  and 
anxious.  But  on  the  contrary,  it  was  one  of  the  merriest 
dinners  at  which  I was  ever  present.  An  Englishman, 
however  hard  he  may  work,  lays  off  all  care  at  dinner, 
and  these  men,  wdio  had  been  at  work  all  day,  and 
might  w^ork  all  nig^it,  were  now  the  most  cheerful  com- 
panions in  the  world.  I sat  next  to  Mr.  Peabody,  who 
was  full  of  pleasant  and  friendly  chat  about  England  and 
America.  When  the  dinner  was  ended,  we  left  the 
directors  to  resume  their  deliberations,  while  we  walked 
out  to  see  the  beauties  of  Plymouth,  w'hich,  viewed 
from  “ the  Iloe,”  a promenade  on  high  ground  overlook- 
ing the  bay,  with  its  ships  and  forts,  appears  a very 
picturesque  city. 

It  was  now  Saturday  evening,  and  Capt.  Hudson 
called  to  invite  us  on  board  the  Niagara  the  next 
morning,  with  the  special  request  that  I should  preach 


THE  ATLANTIC  TELEGRAPH  EXPEDITION. 


25 


lo  the  officers  and  crew  on  the  last  Sabbath  before  they 
sailed  to  commence  their  great  undertaking.  The  occa- 
sion was  one  of  such  interest,  that  tired  as  I was,  I could 
not  refuse.  The  captain  sent  his  boat,  with  a lieutenant 
and  a dozen  stalwart  seamen  to  row  us  to  the  ship. 
Again  the  day  was  beautiful,  and  the  water  was  like 
glass  as  we  glided  across  the  bay.  Before  us  lay  the 
whole  telegraphic  fleet,  four  noble  ships  destined  in  a 
few  days  to  undertake  one  of  the  most  stupendous 
enterprises  ever  attempted  or  conceived  by  man.  A 
solemn  religious  service  amid  such  surroundings  could 
not  but  be  deeply  impressive.  It  seemed  like  the 
prayers  of  Columbus  and  his  companions  before  they 
sailed  from  Spain.  On  the  after-deck  an  awning  was 
spread  to  shade  us  from  the  sun.  A table,  covered  with 
the  American  flag,  served  for  desk  and  pulpit.  Before 
me  sat  the  officers  of  the  ship,  with  several  of  the 
directors  and  other  scientific  men;  and  behind,  sitting 
upon  cannon,  and  crowding  every  spot  where  a man 
could  sit  or  stand,  four  or  five  hundred  seamen.  My 
heart  was  full.  They  were  my  countrymen.  And  yet 
we  were  in  a foreign  port.  Around  us  were  the  hills 
and  waters  and  fleets  of  England.  At  that  moment  I 
felt  how  strong  were  the  ties  which  bind  us  to  the  Old 
World  as  well  as  to  the  New,  and  most  devoutly  did  I 
pray  that  the  connection  which  these  ships  were  sent 
to  establish  between  two  hemispheres,  might  be  a tie 
to  bind  them  in  dose  and  peaceful  union.  Standing 

2 


26 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


thus  in  the  presence  of  two  nations,  it  seemed  appro- 
priate, by  humble  and  united  worship,  to  acknowledge 
our  obligations  to  Him,  who  has  made  both  England  and 
America  wrhat  they  are.  It  was  an  act  most  fitting  to 
the  hour,  that  we  should  bow  together  on  those  decks, 
and  stretch  out  our  hands  to  God,  and  implore  His 
blessing  on  the  work  which  we  were  about  to  undertake. 
I opened  to  the  107th  Psalm  and  read,  “They  that  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  these  see  the  wTorks  of  the 
Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.”  Then  I spoke  to 
the  officers  and  sailors  as  men  especially  honored  of  God 
and  of  their  country,  by  being  chosen  for  this  work  of 
civilization.  They  were  going  on  a missionary  enter- 
prise, to  plant  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean  a chord  of  iron, 
which  should  be  vital  as  a chord  of  flesh,  quivering  with 
human  life  and  language,  telling  the  thoughts  of  men  and 
speaking  the  glory  of  God  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and 
I adjured  them  evermore  to  bear  themselves  as  members 
of  “a  sacred  band.”  Never  had  I a more  attentive 
audience.  The  hardy  tars  bent  forward  and  listened 
eagerly  to  catch  every  word,  and  the  tear  that  fell  on 
many  a bronzed  cheek,  told  that  beneath  that  rugged 
breast  there  trembled  a gentle  and  manly  heart.  I may 
travel  over  many  lands,  but  such  a scene  surely  I can 
never  hope  to  see  again. 

After  service,  the  captain  took  us  back  to  the  city. 
In  crossing  the  harbor,  we  visited  the  Agamemnon.  As 
we  approached  the  ship,  we  found  it  surrounded  by  a 


THE  ATLANTIC  TELEGRAPH  EXPEDITION. 


27 


fleet  of  boats,  which  were  filled  with  women  ! The  sea 
was  alive  with  them.  We  asked  what  it  meant,  and 
were  told  that  these  were  the  wives  and  sweethearts  of 
the  sailors,  who  had  come  off  to  take  leave  of  them, 
as  this  was  the  last  Sunday  that  the  ship  was  to  be  in 
port.  Jack  seemed  to  be  plentifully  supplied  with 
friends  of  the  other  sex.  They  swarmed  over  the  ship, 
clambering  up  the  sides,  crowding  the  decks,  and  look- 
ing out  of  the  portholes. 

Captain  Preedy  was  standing  at  the  side  of  the  ship  to 
receive  us.  As  we  touched  the  deck,  he  reached  out  his 
arm  to  Mrs.  F.,  and  led  us  off  straight  to  his  cabin,  and 
gave  us  a hearty  English  welcome.  It  was  pleasant  to 
see  the  cordial  relations  which  exist  between  the  officers 
of  the  two  nations,  and  to  mark  the  interest  and  ambi- 
tion with  which  all  enter  upon  their  great  work. 

Before  we  left,  Captain  Preedy  took  us  down  into  the 
hold  of  the  ship  to  see  the  monstrous  coils.  He  showed 
us  one  pile  forty-six  feet  in  diameter,  and  fifteen  feet 
deep,  in  which  there  were  1,300  miles  of  cable ! Can 
such  a chain  ever  be  stretched  across  the  wild  ocean  ? 
The  undertaking  seems  almost  above  the  power  of  man. 
Yet  the  preparations  are  on  a corresponding  scale  of 
magnitude.  All  that  human  skill  can  do,  is  done,  and 
the  great  result,  on  which  so  much  depends,  must  now 
be  left  with  that  Being  who  spreadeth  out  the  heavens, 
and  ruleth  the  raging  of  the  sea. 


V. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Dickens  reading  his  Christmas  Carol. 

“ Was  there  ever  a better  Charity  sermon  preached  in  the  world 
than  Dickens’  Christmas  Carol  ?” — Thackeray. 

London,  June  17,  1858. 

As  we  were  riding  up  to  London,  we  saw  in  the  Times 
that  Dickens  was  the  next  day  to  give  a public  reading 
of  his  Christmas  Carol.  So  many  happy  hours  had  this 
writer  afforded  us  by  our  own  cheerful  fireside,  in  the 
far  off  Western  World — as  we  sat  alone  on  winter  nights, 
just  as  he  wishes  his  readers  to  be  when  they  take  in 
hand  his  stories — the  fire  blazing  brightly  on  the  hearth, 
and  the  ample  curtains  flowing  to  the  floor,  shutting  out 
every  sight  without,  and  muffling  the  sound  of  city  streets 
— that  we  were  curious  to  see  him  giving  form  and  voice 
to  one  of  his  own  delightful  creations.  Early  in  the 
morning  I hastened  to  secure  “ stalls,”  as  the  best  seats 
are  called.  The  house  was  already  full,  but  fortunately 
a party  had  just  returned  a couple  of  tickets,  and  so  we 
succeeded  in  obtaining  excellent  places  right  in  front  of 
the  platform.  The  reading  was  to  begin  at  three,  but  it 
was  an  hour  before  that  we  took  a “ Hansom,”  and  drove 
to  St.  Martin’s  Hall  in  Longacre.  Already  the  rear  of 

38 


DICKENS  BEADING  HIS  CHEISTMAS  CAROL. 


29 


the  hall  was  crowded,  but  the  seats  in  front,  being  num- 
bered and  secured,  filled  more  slowly.  While  waiting, 
we  amused  ourselves  in  observing  the  audience,  which 
included  many  persons  of  distinction.  It  was  evident 
that  we  were  surrounded  by  representatives  of  the  fash- 
ionable society  of  London.  Here  were  lords  and  ladies 
of  high  degree ; with  members  of  parliament,  and 
officers  in  the  army,  who  had  served  in  Crimean  and  In- 
dian wars  ; and  who  had  turned  out  of  the  clubs  at  this 
morning  hour,  to  sit  under  the  spell  of  a man  of  genius. 
Yonder  grey-headed  old  man,  wTho  totters  across  the 
room,  is  a noble  duke.  That  lady,  with  a long,  red  nose, 
who  sits  near  the  stage,  at  Mr.  Dickens’  feet,  is  Miss 
Burdett  Coutts,  the  richest  heiress  in  England — a lady 
who  is  very  plain,  but  who  makes  up  for  the  want  of 
beauty  by  being  very  good.  She  is  full  of  charitable 
deeds,  having  built  I do  not  know  how  many  churches, 
and  endowed  English  bishoprics  at  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
The  last  of  these  was  in  British  America,  to  the  north  of 
the  Columbia  Biver. 

But  none  of  these  grand  personages  had  more  than  a 
moment’s  interest  for  us,  since  in  turning  we  espied  across 
the  hall,  one  familiar  face — that  of  an  artist,  who,  though 
from-  England,  had  long  resided  in  America,  and  from 
whom  we  had  parted  in  New  York  but  a few  months 
before.  It  was  a pleasant  countenance  to  see  so  far  from 
home.  No  man  is  more  of  an  artist  in  his  soul,  more  full 
of  fine  poetic  feeling,  than  Paul  Duggan ; and  to  recog- 


30 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


nize  his  friendly  face  amid  a crowd  of  strangers,  was  a 
pleasure  equal  to  that  of  the  reading  itself.  To  his 
society,  and  that  of  Cropsey,  another  American  artist 
now  settled  in  London,  we  owed,  afterwards,  many  of 
our  happiest  hours  in  England. 

And  now  the  fingers  of  the  clock  are  pointing  to  the 
hour.  Exact  at  the  minute,  a quick  step  is  heard,  and  a 
man  of  light  frame,  dressed  in  a frock  coat  and  grey 
pantaloons,  issues  from  behind  a screen,  skips  up  the 
steps  with  the  agility  of  a boy,  and  advances  rapidly  to 
the  front  of  the  stage,  and  turns  and  makes  his  bow  to 
the  audience.  Le  voila  ! That  is  Charles  Dickens. 

Mark  the  figure.  It  is  slight  and  slender,  but  all  quiv- 
ering with  life.  That  agile  form  seems  to  be  set  on 
springs.  The  man  has  the  same  elasticity  of  body  as  of 
mind.  In  age  he  looks  to  be  just  what  he  is,  forty-seven ; 
but  time  has  touched  him  lightly.  Notwithstanding  his 
long  literary  career,  and  immense  activity,  he  still  seems 
as  fresh  as  ever.  There  is  plenty  of  fire  in  his  eye,  and  a 
jaunty  toss  in  the  curly  locks,  which,  though  a little 
frosted,  still  hang  richly  on  bis  temples. 

Pausing  a moment,  he  glanced  a quick  eye  around  the 
hall,  to  see  that  all  was  hushed  and  still,  and  then,  in  a 
voice,  not  loud  and  sonorous,  nor  yet  low  and  subdued, 
like  that  of  a great  orator,  who  first  lets  out  the  softest 
notes  of  an  organ,  which  he  can  swell  till  the  very  walls 
tremble  with  the  sound,  but  sharp  and  clear,  he  began 
the  Christmas  Carol. 


DICKENS  HEADING  IIIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


31 


I take  it  for  granted  that  you  have  read  this  charming 
story — if  not,  you  ought  to — and  so  I need  only  allude 
to  a few  of  its  points  to  illustrate  the  varieties  of  style 
and  the  dramatic  power  of  the  reader.  At  the  first  slap, 
came  the  hard  matter  of  fact : 

“ Marley  was  dead,  to  begin  with.  There  is  no  doubt 
whatever  about  that.  The  register  of  his  burial  was 
signed  by  the  clergyman,  the  clerk,  the  undertaker,  and 
the  chief  mourner.  . . . Old  Marley  was  as  dead  as 

a door  nail.” 

Marley  was  a hard  man  in  his  day,  and  one  like  him  is 
now  standing  in  his  shoes.  Here  is  the  portrait  of  his 
surviving  partner,  Scrooge.  The  pencil  of  Hogarth 
never  sketched  an  old  miser  better  than  Dickens  by  these 
few  strokes : 

“ Oh ! but  he  was  a tight-fisted  hand  at  the  grindstone, 
Scrooge.  A squeezing,  wrenching,  grasping,  scraping, 
clutching,  covetous  old  sinner!  The  cold  within  him 
froze  his  old  features,  nipped  his  pointed  nose,  shrivelled 
his  cheek,  stiffened  his  gait ; made  his  eyes  red,  his  thin 
lips  blue ; and  spoke  out  shrewdly  in  his  grating  voice. 
Heat  and  cold  had  little  influence  on  Scrooge.  No 
warmth  could  warm,  nor  wintry  weather  chill  him.  No 
wind  that  blew  was  bitterer  than  he,  no  pelting  rain  less 
open  to  entreaty.  Nobody  ever  stopped  him  in  the 
street  to  say,  with  gladsome  looks,  ‘ My  dear  Scrooge, 
how  are  you  ? When  will  you  come  to  see  me  ?’  ” 

In  personating  this  selfish  old  wretch,  Dickens  threw 


32 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


himself  into  the  character,  as  heartily  as  Kean  entered 
into  the  part  of  Shylock  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice.  He 
drew  down  his  face  into  his  collar,  like  a great  turtle 
drawing  in  his  head,  put  on  a surly  look  and  spoke  in  a 
gruff  voice.  You  recall  the  scene.  It  is  the  afternoon 
before  Christmas,  and  the  old  miser  sits  in  his  counting- 
house.  We  see  him  there,  crouching  like  a wolf  in  his 
den,  snarling  at  any  intruder,  and  keeping  a sharp  eye 
on  a poor  clerk,  who  sits  in  a little  hole,  which  is  a kind 
of  tank,  and  who  trembles  under  that  evil  eye. 

But  heigho  ! the  door  opens.  A young  face  looks  in, 
and  a cheerful  voice — which  it  requires  no  effort  on  the 
part  of  Dickens  to  imitate — cries  out,  “ A merry  Christ- 
mas, uncle  !”  It  is  a nephew  of  Scrooge,  who  is  as  poor 
as  a rat,  but  who  in  spite  of  that,  has  fallen  in  love,  and 
(greatest  of  absurdities !)  has  actually  got  married,  and 
who,  finding  himself  very  happy,  makes  bold  to  ask  his 
crusty  old  uncle  to  come  to  a family  dinner,  the  next  day. 
Scrooge  sends  him  away  with  anything  but  a blessing. 
“ Merry  Christmas,”  he  mutters  scornfully.  “ What  right 
have  you  to  be  merry  ? You’re  poor  enough.”  But  the 
young  fellow  is  in  such  a happy  mood  that  he  is  not  of- 
fended, and  away  he  goes,  light  of  heart.  Just  then  two 
gentlemen  enter  who  are  collecting  money  for  the  poor 
to  afford  them  relief.  Here  Dickens  drew  himself  up 
with  a dignified  air,  such  as  would  become  a portly  and 
benevolent  gentleman,  and  spoke  in  his  blandest  tones. 
But  the  solicitors  have  a tough  subject,  and  make  no 


DICKENS  READING  HIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


33 


impression.  Scrooge  looks  at  the  papers,  and  hands  them 
back  without  a word.  The  kind  hearted  men  attempt  to 
plead  for  the  poor.  But  the  wolf  growls : 

“ Are  there  no  prisons  ? Are  there  no  workhouses  ?” 
Ah  yes,  indeed,  there  are  enough  of  those  sorrowful 
abodes.  But,  they  interpose,  “many  can’t  go  there, 
and  many  would  rather  die.” 

This  is  a pleasant  thought  to  Scrooge : “ If  they  would 
rather  die,  they  had  better  do  it,  and  decrease  the  surplus 
population.” 

Disgusted  with  all  this  nonsense  of  benevolence,  this 
keeping  merry  Christmas,  and  this  trying  to  be  happy, 
even  of  people  who  have  got  no  money,  Scrooge  rises 
slowly  from  his  seat,  and  buttons  his  great  coat  to  the 
chin — in  which  Dickens  follows  him — and  walks  surly 
home.  He  shuts  the  great  house  door  with  a bang, 
which  fills  the  desolate  place  with  dreary  echoes,  and 
goes  to  his  room  and  locks  himself  in.  It  is  a fearful 
night.  The  wintry  wind  howls  around  the  building, 
shakes  the  door,  rattles  the  windows,  and  rustles  the  cur- 
tains of  the  bed.  In  such  a gloomy  hour  a man  of  the 
firmest  nerves  might  feel  his  spirit  shake  with  ghostly 
dread.  (Dickens’  voice  grows  husky  with  terror,  as 
if  he  w'ere  sitting  in  Scrooge’s  place,  and  felt  his  heart 
die  within  him.)  Strange  sounds  are  in  the  air.  A 
heavy  tramp  is  heard  upon  the  stair,  and  lo ! an  appari- 
tion ! Scrooge  knows  the  face  as  soon  as  it  appears. 
’Tis  old  Jacob  Marley,  who  died  seven  years  ago  this 

2* 


34 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


very  night,  and  who  has  come  back  from  the  grave  to 
warn  his  old  companion  of  his  own  sad  doom.  Talking 
solemnly  as  spirits  talk,  he  gives  his  warning  and  then 
slowly  disappears.  As  he  stepped  backward  towards  the 
window,  Scrooge  “ became  sensible  of  confused  noises  in 
the  air;  incoherent  sounds  of  lamentation  and  regret, 
wailings  inexpressibly  sorrowful  and  self-accusatory.  The 
spectre,  after  listening  for  a moment,  joined  in  the  mourn- 
ful dirge ; and  floated  out  upon  the  bleak,  dark  night.” 

Nothing  in  the  whole  realm  of  fictitious  or  poetical 
creations,  is  more  difficult  to  manage  than  this  introduc- 
tion of  spirits  from  the  invisible  world.  Dickens  succeeds 
admirably  in  his  rendering  of  the  character.  The  spirit 
speaks  always  in  a serious,  solemn  tone,  as  one  who  has 
passed  beyond  the  bounds  of  this  world,  and  now  looks 
upon  it  with  other  eyes  and  a higher  wisdom.  True  to 
the  warning,  Scrooge  is  visited  on  successive  nights,  by 
three  spirits,  the  ghosts  of  Christmas  Past,  Present  and 
Future,  who  take  him  by  the  hand,  and  give  him  such 
tramps  as  make  his  old  bones  shake  with  terror.  What 
follows  is  chiefly  taken  up  with  these  ghostly  visits  and 
nightly  wanderings. 

As  the  Christmas  Carol  is  not  a play,  but  a story,  of 
course  it  is  but  partly  occupied  with  dialogue.  Animated 
conversations  are  followed  by  passages  of  description, 
which  must  be  given  in  an  altered  manner.  Here  Dickens 
changes  from  the  actor  to  the  reader.  This  rapid  suc- 
cession of  different  styles,  so  far  from  checking  the  in- 


DICIvEXS  READING  II IS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


35 


terest,  adds  greatly  to  the  variety.  These  quiet  passages 
furnish  relief  to  those  which  are  more  exciting.  Dickens’ 
voice,  which  all  through  the  conversations  had  been 
running  up  and  down  the  scale  like  a ventriloquist’s,  now 
fell  into  a more  even  and  quiet  tone,  as  softer  scenes 
passed  before  his  eye.  Led  by  his  airy  visitants,  the  old 
miser  returns  to  the  scenes  of  his  childhood,  when  heart 
and  hope  were  young,  and  even  tender  love  was  not 
altogether  stifled  in  his  breast.  Nothing  could  be  more 
delicate  than  Dickens’  rendering  of  those  childish  scenes, 
which  he  so  much  loves  to  depict.  Scrooge  revisits  the 
place  where  he  went  to  school.  He  enters  the  very  room, 
full  of  forms  and  desks.  “ At  one  of  these,  a lonely  boy 
was  reading  near  a feeble  fire,  and  Scrooge  sat  down 
upon  a form,  and  wept  to  see  his  poor  forgotten  self  as  he 
used  to  be.”  Again  a door  opens,  “and  a little  girl, 
much  younger  than  the  boy,  came  darting  in,  and  putting 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  often  kissing  him,  addressed 
him  as  her  dear,  dear  brother.” 

One  of  the  beautiful  things  in  the  Christmas  Carol  is 
its  frequent  contrasts,  as  in  the  setting  of  harsh  and 
hardened  age  beside  gentle  and  trusting  childhood. 
Thus  from  the  repulsive  look  of  avarice,  so  hard  and 
grim,  a friendly  ghost  transports  us  along  with  the  miser, 
to  a different  scene — to  a poor  family  who  in  their  hum- 
ble home,  and  in  their  poor  way,  try  to  keep  this  holy, 
happy  Christmas  time.  Nothing  in  Goldsmith  exceeds 
the  description  of  the  Cratchit  family.  Poor  Bob 


36 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Cratchit  had  but  fifteen  shillings  a week,  and  yet  the 
ghost  of  Christinas  “ stopped  upon  his  threshold  and 
blessed  his  four-roomed  house !” 

Here  Dickens  was  in  his  element,  and  never  did  he 
portray  more  exquisitely  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  the 
poor.  So  animated  was  the  picture,  and  so  w^cll  did  his 
voice  keep  time  to  every  change  and  incident  of  the 
scene,  that  we  could  see  it  all.  There  was  the  family 
coming  together  to  keep  Christmas — the  eldest  daughter, 
Martha,  returning  home  from  service  ; the  mother  in  her 
twice  turned  gown,  decked  out  with  ribbons,  and  Miss 
Belinda  Cratchit,  and  Master  Peter  Cratchit,  and  all  the 
little  Crat chits,  tearing  like  mad,  so  wild  with  mirth  and 
glee. 

But  the  jewel  of  the  family  is  yet  to  appear.  His 
father  has  taken  him  on  his  shoulder,  and  trotted  off 
with  him  to  church.  Soon  poor  Bob  comes  in  with  the 
little  creature  perched  upon  his  shoulder.  lie  is  the 
smallest  bit  of  a thing,  and  his  name  is  Tiny  Tim. 
Dickens’  voice  took  a softer  tone  as  he  said,  “ Alas  for 
Tiny  Tim,  he  bore  a little  crutch,  and  had  his  limbs  sup- 
ported by  an  iron  frame !” 

“ ‘And  how  did  little  Tim  behave?’  asked  Mrs.  Crat- 
chit, when  Bob  had  hugged  his  daughter  to  his  heart’s 
content. 

“ ‘ As  good  as  gold,’  said  Bob,  4 and  better.  Some- 
how he  gets  thoughtful  sitting  by  himself  so  much,  and 
thinks  the  strangest  things  you  ever  heard.  [Gentler, 


DICKERS  KEaDIXG  IIIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL.  37 


gentler,  was  the  speaker’s  voice.]  He  told  me,  coming 
home,  that  he  hoped  the  people  saw  him  in  the  church, 
because  he  was  a cripple,  and  it  might  be  pleasant  to 
them  to  remember  upon  Christmas  Day,  who  made  lame 
beggars  walk  and  blind  men  see.’ 

“ Bob’s  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  told  them  this, 
and  trembled  more  ’when  he  said  that  Tiny  Tim  was 
growing  strong  and  hearty.” 

Dickens’  voice  wravered  too,  but  in  an  instant  rallied 
to  describe  the  great  event  of  the  Christmas  dinner. 
Here  his  fancy  found  full  sport,  and  ran  riot  amid  the 
scene.  How  well  did  he  describe  the  bustle  of  delightful 
preparation,  the  world  of  pains  by  each  one  of  the 
family,  to  give  due  pomp  to  the  expected  feast.  He 
fairly  rollicked  in  the  description  of  the  goose  and  the 
pudding.  “ There  never  was  such  a goose.  Bob  said 
he  didn’t  believe  there  ever  was  such  a goose  cooked.” 
But  even  this  great  achievement  wTas  eclipsed  when 
Mrs.  Cratchit,  having  retired  for  the  purpose,  reap- 
peared upon  the  scene,  bearing  the  pudding ! “ Oh  that 

was  a ^wonderful  pudding ! Bob  Cratchit  said,  and 
calmly  too,  that  he  regarded  it  as  the  greatest  success 
achieved  by  Mrs.  Cratchit  since  their  marriage.” 

These  touches  were  given  by  Dickens  with  such  mock 
seriousness,  such  exquisite  drollery,  that  the  audience 
were  convulsed.  We  laughed  till  we  cried.  But  come 
back  to  the  happy  group  around  Bob  Cratchit’s  table. 

“ At  last  the  dinner  was  all  done,  the  cloth  was  cleared, 


38 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  hearth  swept  and  the  fire  made  up.”  Then  came  the 
apples,  and  oranges  and  chestnuts.  “ All  sat  round  the 
fire.  Then  Boh  proposed,  ‘A  merry  Christmas  to  us 
all,  my  dears — God  bless  us !’  which  all  the  family 
reechoed. 

“ ‘God  bless  us  every  one  !’  said  Tiny  Tim,  the  last  of 
all.”  Again  Dickens’  voice  fell  into  the  minor  key,  as  he 
added,  “ He  sat  very  close  to  his  father’s  side,  upon  his 
little  stool.  Bob  held  his  withered  little  hand  in  his,  as 
if  he  loved  the  child,  and  wished  to  keep  him  by  his  side, 
and  dreaded  that  he  might  be  taken  from  him.” 

I have  referred  to  the  frequent  contrasts  in  the  pro- 
gress of  the  story,  which  give  to  its  pictures  such 
variety,  and  keep  alive  throughout  a tender  and  pathetic 
interest.  There  were  scenes  which  almost  lifted  one  ofif 
from  his  feet  by  their  exuberant  gaiety.  Thus  the 
story-teller  enters  into  a game  of  blind  man’s  buff*,  like  a 
romping  boy.  He  enters  into  the  very  soul  of  Topper, 
and  into  his  body  too,  when  that  young  man,  though  his 
eyes  are  bandaged,  and  he  has  to  grope  in  the  dark,  is 
always  sure  to  catch  “the  plump  sister,”  and  nobody 
else  ! And  when  old  F ezziwig  improvises  in  his  shop  a 
party  for  his  apprentices  and  shop  girls,  you  would 
have  thought  Dickens  was  about  to  give  a performance 
himself,  or  that  he  was  at  least  the  fiddler,  shouting  to 
the  whirling  couples.  His  voice  skipped  lightly  along 
sentences  which  fairly  danced  to  the  sound  of  their  own 


music. 


DICKERS  READING  HIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


39 


Yet  a few  minutes  and  his  voice  is  checked  again,  and 
droops  like  a mourner  over  some  sad  scene.  These 
were  the  passages  which  pleased  us  most — so  touching 
•were  they,  and  so  fitly  spoken,  with  a power  beyond 
the  reach  of  art,  the  power  of  deep,  genuine  feeling. 
N o one  could  doubt  the  heart  of  the  man  that  heard  him 
then.  Full  as  he  is  to  overflowing  of  the  comic  element, 
there  is  also  within  him  a string  that  vibrates  to  the 
sweet,  sad  music  of  humanity.  His  voice  knows  well  the 
low  tones  that  speak  of  human  grief  and  tears.  Perhaps 
the  gem  in  all  the  Christmas  Carol  is  the  death  of  Tiny 
Tim,  and  I would  give  much  to  have  you  hear  Dickens 
read  and  act  this  touching  domestic  scene.  How  he 
shared  the  household  grief!  You  would  have  thought 
there  had  been  a death  in  his  family,  that  one  of  his  own 
children  had  been  laid  upon  the  bier. 

The  ghost  has  taken  Scrooge  out  again  upon  his 
nightly  walk.  “ They  enter  poor  Bob  Cratchit’s  house, 
the  dwelling  he  had  visited  before,  and  find  the  mother 
and  the  children  seated  round  the  fire. 

“ Quiet,  very  quiet.  The  noisy  little  Cratchits  were  as 
still  as  statues  in  one  corner,  and  sat  looking  up  at 
Peter,  who  had  a book  before  him.  The  mother  and  her 
daughters  were  engaged  in  sewing.  But  surely  they 
were  very  quiet ! 

“ ‘ And  he  took  a child  and  set  him  in  the  midst  of 
them.’ 

“ Where  had  Scrooge  heard  those  words  ? 


40 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


“The  mother  laid  her  work  upon  the  table,  and  put  her 
hand  up  to  her  face. 

44  4 The  color  hurts  my  eyes,’  she  said. 

“ The  color  ? Ah,  poor  Tiny  Tim  !” 

“ 4 They’re  better  now  again,’  said  Cratchit’s  wife. 
4 It  makes  them  weak  by  candle-light;  and  I wouldn’t 
show  weak  eyes  to  your  father  when  he  comes  home,  for 
the  world.  It  must  be  near  his  time.’ 

44  4 Past  it,  rather,’  Peter  answered,  shutting  up  his 
book.  4 But  I think  he’s  walked  a little  slower  than  he 
used,  these  few  last  evenings,  mother.’ 

44  They  were  very  quiet  again.  At  last  she  said,  and  in 
a steady,  cheerful  voice,  that  only  faltered  once  : 

44  4 1 have  known  him  walk  with — I have  known  him 
walk  with  Tiny  Tim  upon  his  shoulder  very  fast  indeed.’ 
44  4 But  he  was  very  light  to  carry,’  she  resumed,  intent 
upon  her  work,  4 and  his  father  loved  him  so,  that  it  was 
no  trouble — no  trouble.  And  there  is  your  father  at  the 
door !’ 

44  She  hurried  out  to  meet  him ; and  little  Bob,  in  his 
comforter — he  had  need  of  it,  poor  fellow — came  in. 
His  tea  was  ready  for  him  on  the  hob,  and  they  all  tried 
who  should  help  him  to  it  most.  Then  the  two  young 
Cratchits  got  upon  his  knees,  and  laid,  each  child,  a little 
cheek  against  his  face,  as* if  they  said,  ‘Don’t  mind  it, 
father.  Don’t  be  grieved !’ 

44  Bob  was  very  cheerful  with  them,  and  spoke  pleasantly 
to  all  the  family.  He  looked  at  the  work  upon  the  table, 


DICKENS  READING  HIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


41 


and  praised  the  industry  and  speed  of  Mrs.  Cratchit,  and 
the  girls.  They  would  he  done  long  before  Sunday,  he 
said. 

44  4 Sunday ! you  went  to-day,  then,  Robert  ?’  said  his 
wife. 

44  4 Yes,  my  dear,’  returned  Bob.  4 1 wish  you  could 
have  gone.  It  would  have  done  you  good  to  see  how 
green  a place  it  is.  But  you’ll  see  it  often.  I promised 
him  that  I would  walk  there  on  a Sunday.  My  little, 
little  child  !’  cried  Bob,  4 my  little  child!’ 

44  He  broke  down  all  at  once.  He  couldn’t  help  it.  It 
he  could  have  helped  it,  he  and  his  child  would  have  been 
further  apart  perhaps  than  they  were. 

44  He  left  the  room,  and  went  up-stairs,  into  the  room 
above,  which  was  lighted  cheerfully  and  hung  with 
Christmas.  There  was  a chair  set  close  beside  the  child, 
and  there  were  signs  of  some  one  having  been  there 
lately.  Poor  Bob  sat  down  in  it,  and  when  he  had 
thought  a little  and  composed  himself,  he  kissed  the  little 
face.  He  was  reconciled  to  what  had  happened,  and 
went  down  again  quite  happy. 

44  They  drew  about  the  fire  and  talked ; the  girls  and 
mother  working  still Bob  said:  ‘How- 

ever and  whenever  we  part  from  one  another,  I am  sure 
none  of  us  will  forget  poor  Tiny  Tim,  shall  we  ? or  this 
first  parting  that  was  among  us  ?’ 

44  4 Never,  father !’  cried  they  all. 

44  4 And  I know,’  said  Bob,  4 1 know,  my  dears,  that 


42 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


when  we  recollect  how  patient  and  how  mild  he  was, 
although  he  was  a little,  little  child,  we  shall  not  quarrel 
easily  among  ourselves,  and  forget  poor  Tiny  Tim  in  do- 
ing it.5 

“‘No,  never,  father !5  they  all  cried  again. 

“ ‘ I am  very  happy,5  said  little  Bob,  ‘ I am  very 
happy !’ 

“Mrs.  Cratchit  kissed  him,  his  daughters  kissed  him,  the 
two  young  Cratchits  kissed  him,  and  Peter  and  himself 
shook  hands.  Spirit  of  Tiny  Tim,  thy  childish  essence 
was  from  God !” 

How  these  words  thrilled  the  audience ! A few  mo- 
ments before  we  had  been  convulsed  with  laughter.  Now 
many  eyes  silently  filled  with  tears.  Lords  and  ladies, 
and  commoners  alike  wept  for  poor  Bob  Cratchit  and  his 
Tiny  Tim. 

The  close  was  in  a lighter  vein.  Old  Scrooge  at  last 
awakes,  and  finds  it  all  a dream.  But  the  ghost  has  done 
its  work.  He  is  thoroughly  frightened  from  his  former 
way  of  fife.  He  is  shaken  in  his  constant  mind  by  the  sight 
of  those,  who,  with  not  a hundredth  part  of  his  means  of 
enjoyment,  are  yet  a thousand  times  happier  than  he. 
Appalled  at  the  dreariness  and  desolateness  of  his  miser- 
able and  selfish  life,  he  stands  aghast  at  the  prospect  of  a 
lonely  and  wintry  old  age,  and  in  his  despair,  lie  starts 
from  his  sleep,  and  cries  for  mercy. 

From  that  day  Scrooge  is  another  man.  He  goes  to 
his  office  the  next  morning,  and  meets  his  little  clerk,  who 


DICKENS  READING  HIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


43 


is  none  other  than  poor  Bob  Cratchit,  whom  he  frightens 
half  out  of  his  wits  by  cutting  unheard  of  capers,  telling 
him  that  he  is  going  on  the  spot,  to  raise  his  salary  ! He 
goes  out  into  the  street,  and  pats  children  on  the  head, 
and  hails  the  beggars,  and  gives  them  means  to  keep  the 
blessed  holiday.  lie  finds  too — joy  of  his  heart!  that 
poor  little  Tiny  Tim  is  not  dead.  It  was  only  a dream. 
And  forthwith  he  takes  the  little  Dot  under  his  shelter- 
ing wing  to  love  and  keep  him  evermore.  And  suddenly 
he  finds  that  he  has  a heart  beneath  his  toughened  ribs, 
and  a thrill  of  life  runs  through  his  old  bones. 

So  ends  the  tale,  with  joy  and  happiness  restored,  the 
speaker  saying,  “ And  so,  as  Tiny  Tim  observed,  God 
bless  us  every  one,”  and  with  that  last  word  Mr.  Dickens 
bowed  to  the  audience,  and  as  they  broke  out  into  a 
furious  clapping,  he  walked  rapidly  off  the  stage  and  dis- 
appeared. 

W e afterwards  heard  Dickens  twice.  Once  he  read 
the  first  part  of  Dombey  and  Son,  that  which  describes 
little  Paul ; and  the  other,  he  read  several  detached 
stories,  The  Poor  Traveller,  Boots  at  the  Holly  Tree 
Inn,  and  Mrs.  Gamp.  Each  time  we  admired  still  more 
his  rare  dramatic  skill  and  mastery  of  the  human  heart. 
He  is  almost  as  great  an  actor  as  he  is  an  author.  He  is 
a perfect  master  of  the  art  of  mimicry,  being  able  at  will 
to  assume  almost  any  look,  and  to  imitate  almost  any 
voice.  He  can  put  on  a grave  or  a merry  face.  His 
countenance  takes  easily  the  queerest  and  drollest  ex- 


44 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


pression.  Then  he  draws  himself  up,  and  puts  on  a 
solemn  grimace,  looking  like  a great  wise  owl.  At  times, 
when  playing  a quizzing  character,  there  is  an  archness 
in  his  look,  a playful  drollery  about  the  mouth,  and  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye  that  are  irresistible.  And  then  how 
well  his  voice  corresponds.  He  can  speak  in  a low  bass, 
or  in  a piping  treble,  taking  almost  at  will  the  voice  of 
childhood  or  of  age,  of  man  or  woman.  How  well  did 
he  personate  poor  Toots,  in  Dombey,  and  Mrs.  Gamp, 
the  whining  old  nurse,  in  Martin  Chuzzlewit ! 

But  perhaps  his  happiest  reading,  as  well  as  his  most 
beautiful  writing,  is  that  which  delineates  children. 
Little  Paul  Dombey  was  the  counterpart,  though  in 
another  sphere,  of  Tiny  Tim.  The  picture  was  drawn 
with  the  same  delicate  and  inimitable  grace.  Who  can 
ever  forget  the  little  fellow  on  the  sea-beach,  gathering 
shells,  and  asking  his  sister  that  question,  which  tells  so 
much  of  premature  development,  and  decay  and  early 
death,  “Am  I an  old-fashioned  child  ?” 

Sometimes  Dickens  rises  still  higher,  as  in  the  scene  of 
the  death  of  Paul’s  mother,  when  poor  little  Florence, 
who  has  never  known  what  it  w'as  to  be  loved  but  by 
her,  comes  into  the  room  and  throws  herself  upon  her 
dying  mother’s  breast.  Dickens’  voice  had  a tone  of 
solemnity  that  still  rings  in  my  ears,  as  he  said  : “ Thus 
clinging  fast  to  that  slight  spar  within  her  arms,  she 
floated  out  upon  the  dark  and  unknown  sea  that  rolls 
round  all  the  world.” 


DICKENS  READING  HIS  CHRISTMAS  CAROL. 


45 


This  is  not  the  place  to  enter  into  a critical  estimate 
of  Dickens  as  a writer.  Faults  enough  there  may  be  for 
those  who  wish,  to  pick  at.  His  style  may  be  disfigured 
by  frequent  instances  of  broad  caricature  and  gross 
exaggeration.  But  at  present  I am  too  much  under  the 
spell  of  what  I have  just  heard,  to  be  in  a mood  to 
criticise.  Whatever  faults  may  be  found  elsewhere,  in 
those  portions  selected  for  these  public  readings,  all 
must  concede  not  only  the  overflowing  genius,  but  the 
healthful  moral  influence.  W ell  might  Thackeray  ask : 
“ Was  there  ever  a better  Charity  Sermon  preached  in 
the  world  than  Dickens’  Christmas  Carol  ?”  I can  well 
believe  him,  when  he  says : “ It  occasioned  immense 
hospitality  throughout  England ; was  the  means  of 
lighting  up  hundreds  of  kind  fires  at  Christmas  time ; 
caused  a wonderful  outpouring  of  Christmas  good  feel- 
ing— of  Christmas  punch-brewing — and  awful  slaughter 
of  Christmas  turkeys,  and  roasting  and  baking  of 
Christmas  beef.”  “ As  for  this  man’s  love  of  children,” 
he  adds,  “ that  amiable  organ  at  the  back  of  his  honest 
head  must  be  perfectly  monstrous.  All  children  ought 
to  love  him.” 

It  is  no  small  proof  of  goodness  thus  to  be  loved  by 
children,  who  are  the  truest,  the  most  unconscious  and 
most  unaffected  of  friends ; nor  is  it  less  to  be  able  to 
draw  from  the  fancy  or  the  heart,  and  to  depict  airy 
children  of  the  brain,  so  that  they  shall  become  to  us 
real  beings,  and  shall  live  in  our  faith  and  our  affection. 


46 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Whatever  else  of  Dickens  may  perish,  let  his  children 
live.  They  at  least  are  innocent  objects  to  love.  What- 
ever be  said  of  his  portraitures  of  men  and  women,  still 
let  us  keep  the  memory  of  these  household  saints  as  of 
our  own  children  that  we  have  loved  and  lost.  Always 
must  I bless  the  hand  that  drew  the  pale  face  of  little 
N ell,  that  put  such  love  in  her  faithful  heart,  and  gave 
strength  to  her  wandering  feet,  and  still  as  I hear  the 
Christmas  Carol,  will  I say — Spirit  of  Tiny  Tim,  thy 

CHILDISH  ESSENCE  WAS  FROM  GOD  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 


A Near  View  op  Mr.  Spurgeon. 

London,  June  23,  1858. 

No  preacher  in  England,  since  Edward  Irving,  has  had 
such  popularity  as  Mr.  Spurgeon.  He  is  one  of  the  lions 
of  London — a rather  young  lion,  to  be  sure ; but  one 
who,  since  his  appearance  in  the  field,  has  roared  so  loud- 
ly as  to  make  all  the  nation  hear — and  every  stranger 
-who  wishes  to  “ do”  the  sights  of  this  Babylon,  must  for 
once,  at  least,  see  and  hear  him.  Accordingly  we  set 
apart  our  first  Sabbath  to  this  purpose.  We  took  a car- 
riage early,  as  Surrey  Hall  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Thames,  full  three  miles  from  the  West  End,  where  we 
had  our  quarters.  We  arrived  before  the  gates  were 
opened,  but  found  the  crowd  already  beginning  to  col- 
lect. I had  a letter  to  Mr.  Spurgeon  which  I gave  to 
one  of  the  officers  of  the  church,  wTho  immediately  ad- 
mitted us  and  invited  us  to  sit  on  the  platform,  but  we 
preferred  a seat  in  the  front  of  the  side  gallery,  from 
which  we  could  overlook  the  audience,  which  was  almost 
as  much  a matter  of  curiosity  as  the  preacher.  Soon 
we  knew  that  the  gates  were  opened  by  the  hurry- 
ing of  those  who  had  tickets  to  secure  good  places. 

47 


48 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


It  was  interesting  to  observe  the  audience  assembling 
— to  mark  the  hurried  step  and  eager  look  of  the 
multitude.  Music  Hall,  as  it  is  named,  is  situated 
in  the  centre  of  Surrey  Gardens,  a place  of  resort  and 
amusement  during  the  week.  The  hall  was  designed, 
as  its  name  indicates,  for  monster  concerts,  such  as  those 
given  by  Julien.  It  is  built  with  three  or  four  galleries, 
like  the  Academy  of  Music  in  New  York,  though  from 
its  greater  length,  it  can  hold  a much  larger  audience. 
It  is  said  that  it  will  contain  eight  thousand  people. 
But,  vast  as  was  this  amphitheatre,  it  was  soon  filled. 
Tier  above  tier  rose  the  dense  array  of  heads.  The  ad- 
mission is  by  tickets,  though  the  price  is  so  small  that  it 
is  but  a trifle  to  those  who  wish  to  attend.  Thus,  a 
shilling  buys  a ticket  which  is  good  for  a month ; and 
five  shillings  for  the  same  time  secures  reserved  seats. 
At  half-past  ten  the  doors  were  opened  to  those  without 
tickets.  Then  came  a second  rush,  which  choked  up 
every  aisle  and  passage  with  persons  standing.  But  at 
length  the  trampling  ceased,  for  the  building  could 
hold  no  more,  the  audience  hushed  to  quietness,  and  the 
preacher  ascended  the  pulpit. 

Never  had  a public  speaker  a more  unpromising  exte- 
rior than  Mr.  Spurgeon.  He  is  very  short  and  very  fat, 
and  altogether  what  we  should  call  chubby , and  as  he 
goes  waddling  up  the  stairs  he  looks  more  like  an  over- 
grown boy  than  a fully  developed  man.  Nor  does  his 
countenance  betoken  superior  intellect.  His  forehead  is 


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49 


low,  and  his  upper  lij)  is  so  short  that  it  shows  his  teeth, 
which  gives  his  mouth  the  appearance  of  a simper  or  a 
grin.  Surely,  I thought,  eloquence  cannot  come  out  of 
such  a mouth  as  that. 

But  the  impression  which  a physiognomist  might  form 
from  these  dull  and  heavy  features,  is  dispelled  as  soon 
as  he  begins  to  speak.  Then  his  countenance  lights  up 
with  animation.  His  voice  is  full  and  clear,  and  rings 
through  the  hall  like  a clarion,  filling  every  ear  with  the 
melodious  sound. 

The  introductory  services  were  not  of  any  special  in- 
terest, beyond  the  ordinary  services  in  every  church.  As 
is  common  in  England,  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures  oc- 
cupied a longer  time  than  with  us,  being  accompanied 
with  an  exposition.  The  prayer  which  followed  was  ap- 
propriate and  fervent,  but  not  remarkable  for  thought  or 
expression,  as  were  the  prayers  of  Edward  Irving.  The 
singing,  though  of  the  plainest  kind,  was  grand  from  the 
multitude  of  voices  which  swelled  the  mighty  chorus. 
Mr.  Spurgeon  read  the  words,  verse  by  verse,  and  a 
precentor,  standing  up  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  gave  out  the 
tune,  and  led  the  singing.  It  was  a noble  sight  to  see  this 
whole  audience  rising,  and  joining  in  that  old  majestic 
hymn  of  which  each  verse  ends  with  the  line, 

“Rejoice  aloud,  ye  saints,  rejoice.” 

Before  commencing  his  discourse,  Mr.  Spurgeon  an- 
nounced that  a telegraphic  dispatch  had  just  been  re- 

3 


50 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ceived,  calling  for  a person  who  was  supposed  to  be  pr* 
sent,  and  who  was  summoned  away  by  a severe  domestic 
calamity.  The  man  whose  name  had  been  called  came 
forward,  much  agitated,  to  the  pulpit  to  receive  the  mes 
sage,  and,  as  he  retired,  the  sermon  began. 

The  text  was  Ecclesiastes  viii.  10:  “And  so  I saw  the 
wicked  buried,  which  had  come  and  gone  from  the  place 
of  the  holy,  and  they  -were  forgotten  in  the  city  where 
they  had  so  done  : this  is  also  vanity.”  The  subject  was 
The  Wicked  Man’s  Lire,  Funeral,  and  Epitaph.  The 
introduction  struck  me  as  beautifully  simple  and  apposite, 
as  neither  farfetched  nor  commonplace.  See  how  natural 
ly  he  introduces  his  solemn  reflections  upon  death : 

“ It  is  quite  certain  that  there  are  immense  benefits 
attending  our  present  mode  of  burial  in  extra-mural 
cemeteries.  It  was  high  time  that  the  dead  should  be 
removed  from  the  midst  of  the  living — that  we  should 
not  worship  in  the  midst  of  corpses,  and  sit  in  the  Lord’s 
house  on  the  Sabbath,  breathing  the  noxious  effluvia  of 
decaying  bodies.  But  wrhen  we  have  said  this,  we  must 
remember  that  there  are  some  advantages  which  wre  have 
lost  by  the  removal  of  the  dead,  and  more  especially  by 
the  wholesale  mode  of  burial  which  now  seems  very  like- 
ly to  become  general.  We  are  not  so  often  met  by  the 
array  of  death.  In  the  midst  of  our  crowded  cities  we 
sometimes  see  the  sable  hearse  bearing  the  relics  of  men 
to  their  last  homes,  but  the  funeral  ceremonies  are  now 


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51 


mostly  confined  to  those  sweet  sleeping-places  beyond 
our  walks,  where  rest  the  bodies  of  those  who  are  very 
dear  to  us.  ISTow,  I believe  the  sight  of  a funeral  is  a 
very  healthful  thing  for  the  soul.  Whatever  harm  may 
come  to  the  body  by  walking  through  the  vault  and  the 
catacomb,  the  soul  can  there  find  much  food  for  contem- 
plation, and  much  excitement  for  thought.  In  the  quiet 
villages,  where  some  of  us  were  wont  to  dwell,  we  re- 
member how,  when  the  funeral  came  now  and  then,  the 
tolling  of  the  bell  preached  to  all  the  villagers  a better 
sermon  than  they  had  heard  in  the  church  for  many  a 
day ; and  we  recollect,  how  as  children,  we  used  to  clus- 
ter around  the  grave,  and  look  at  that  which  was  not  so 
frequent  an  occurrence  in  the  midst  of  a rare  and  sparse 
population ; and  we  remember  the  solemn  thoughts 
which  used  to  arise  even  in  our  young  hearts  when  we 
heard  the  words  uttered,  ‘Earth  to  earth,  ashes  to 
ashes,  dust  to  dust.’  The  solemn  falling  of  the  few  grains 
of  ashes  upon  the  coffin-lid  was  the  sowing  of  good  seed 
in  our  hearts.  And  afterwards,  when  in  our  childish 
play  we  have  climbed  over  those  nettle-bound  graves, 
and  seated  ourselves  upon  those  moss-grown  tombstones, 
we  have  had  many  a lesson  preached  to  us  by  the  dull, 
cold  tongue  of  death,  more  eloquent  than  aught  we  have 
heard  from  the  lips  of  living  man,  and  more  likely  to  abide 
with  us  in  after  years.  But  now  we  see  little  of  death. 
We  have  fulfilled  Abraham’s  wish  beyond  what  he  de- 
sired— we  ‘ bury  the  dead  out  of  our  sight it  is  rarely 


52 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


^ 1 

that  we  see  them,  and  a stranger  passing  through  our 
streets  might  say,  ‘ Do  these  men  live  always?  for  I see 
no  funerals  amongst  the  millions  of  this  city , I see  no 
signs  of  death.’  ” 

Having  thus  conducted  us  to  the  borders  of  the  grave, 
the  preacher  made  a simple  division  of  his  subject  into 
three  parts,  and  asked  us  first,  to  mark  the  living  man, 

“ as  he  came  and  went  from  the  place  of  the  holy next, 
to  attend  his  funeral ; and  finally,  to  write  his  epitaph. 

“ The  place  of  the  holy,”  he  said,  in  the  original  proba- 
bly referred  to  the  seat  of  judgment,  held  by  the  civil 
magistrate,  but  the  term  might  also  be  applied  to  the 
house  of  God,  and  with  a still  stronger  emphasis  to  the 
sacred  pulpit ; and  he  therefore  proceeded  to  consider  all 
of  these  positions  as  sometimes  occupied  and  profaned  by 
the  presence  of  wicked  men.  How  sternly  did  he  rebuke 
those  magistrates  who  sit  to  judge  the  poor  drunkard,  or 
the  wretched  woman  of  the  streets,  and  who  yet  in  their 
hearts  know  themselves  to  be  guilty  of  the  very  vices 
which  they  condemn  l 

The  same  rigid  inquisition  he  applied  to  the  worship- 
pers in  the  sanctuary.  After  drawing  a picture  of  the 
multitudes  coming  up  to  the  house  of  God,  he  proceeded 
to  separate  the  congregation,  and  to  mark  those  who 
attend  from  form,  or  fashion,  or  curiosity,  and  who  go 
away  as  vile  as  they  came.  After  speaking  of  the  goodly 
sight  presented  by  the  vast  audience,  he  said  : 


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53 


“ Your  pleasure  must  have  a great  deal  of  alloy  if  you 
stop  for  a moment  and  dissect  the  congregation.  Pull 
the  goodly  mass  in  sunder : in  a heap  it  sparkles  like  gold ; 
pull  aside  the  threads,  and  alas  ! you  will  see  that  there 
are  some  not  made  of  the  precious  metal,  for  ‘ we  have 
seen  the  wicked  come  and  go  from  the  place  of  the  holy.’ 
Little  do  we  know  when  we  look  here  from  this  pulpit — 
it  looks  like  one  great  field  of  flowers,  fair  to  look  upon 
— how  many  a root  of  deadly  henbane  and  noxious  night- 
shade groweth  here ; and  though  you  all  look  fair  and 
goodly,  yet  4 1 have  seen  the  wicked  come  and  go  from 
the  place  of  the  holy.’  ” 

But  the  sternest  rebuke  of  the  preacher  was  reserved 
for  those  who  profane  the  sacred  desk : 

u If  there  be  a place  under  high  Heaven  more  holy 
than  another,  it  is  the  pulpit  whence  the  Gospel  is 
preached.  This  is  the  Thermopylae  of  Christendom  ; here 
must  the  great  battle  be  fought  between  Christ’s  Church 
and  the  invading  hosts  of  a wicked  world.  This  is  the 
last  vestige  of  anything  sacred  that  is  left  to  us.  . . . 

Yet  I have  seen  the  wicked  come  and  go  from  it.  Alas  ! 
if  there  be  a sinner  that  is  hardened,  it  is  the  man  that 
sins  and  occupies  his  pulpit.  . . . We  have  known  cases 
where  men,  when  convicted  to  their  own  foreheads,  have 
unblushingly  persevered  in  proclaiming  a Gospel  which 
their  lives  denied.  And  perhaps  these  are  the  hardest  of 


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SUMMER  PICTURES. 


all  sinners  to  deal  with.  But  if  the  garment  be  once  de- 
filed, away  with  all  thoughts  of  the  pulpit  then ! He  must 
be  clean  who  ministers  at  the  altar.  Every  saint  must 
be  holy,  but  he,  holiest  of  all,  who  seeks  to  serve  his  God. 
Yet,  we  must  mourn  to  say  it,  the  Church  of  God  every 
now  and  then  has  had  a sun  that  was  black  instead  of  white, 
and  a moon  that  was  as  a clot  of  blood,  instead  of  being 
full  of  fairness  and  beauty.  Happy  the  Church  when 
God  gives  her  holy  ministers  ; but  unhappy  the  Church 
where  wicked  men  preside.”  • 

After  these  descriptions  of  a guilty  life,  we  were 
brought  to  see  its  fearful  end.  W e had  seen  the  wicked 
in  his  power — we  were  yet  to  see  him  laid  low  in  the 
grave.  “Now,”  said  the  preacher,  “ we  ake  going  to 
his  funeral.  I shall  want  you  to  attend  it.”  He  added 
with  a sarcasm  that  often  flashes  out  in  his  discourse : 

“ You  need  not  be  particular  about  having  on  a hat 
band,  or  being  arrayed  in  garments  of  mourning.  It  does 
not  signify  for  the  wretch  we  are  going  to  bury.  There 
is  no  need  for  any  very  great  outward  signs  of  mourning, 
for  he  will  be  forgotten  even  in  the  city  where  he  hath 
done  this  : therefore  we  need  not  particularly  mourn  for 
him.” 

He  then  drew  the  picture  of  a pompous  funeral  cere- 
mony made  over  the  body  of  a wicked  man  : 

u There  is  a man  who  has  been  a county  magistrate. 


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55 


Do  you  see  what  a stir  is  made  about  his  poor  bones ! 
There  is  the  hearse  covered  with  plumes,  and  there  fol- 
lows a long  string  of  carriages.  The  country  people  stare 
to  see  such  a long  train  of  carriages  coming  to  follow  one 
poor  worm  to  its  resting-place.  What  pomp ! what 
grandeur  ! See  how  the  place  of  worship  is  hung  with 
black.  There  seems  to  be  intense  mourning  made  over 
this  man.  Will  you  just  think  of  it  for  a minute,  and 
whom  are  they  mourning  for  ? A hypocrite  ! Whom  is 
all  this  pomp  for  ? For  one  who  was  a wicked  man;  a 
man  who  made  a pretension  of  religion ; a man  who 
judged  others,  and  who  ought,  to  have  been  condemned 
himself.  All  this  pomp  for  putrid  clay ; and  what  is  it  more 
or  better  than  that  ? When  such  a man  dies,  ought  he 
not  to  be  buried  with  the  burial  of  an  ass  ? Let  him  be 
drawn  and  dragged  from  the  gates  of  the  city.  What  has 
he  to  do  with  pomp  ? At  the  head  of  the  mournful  caval- 
cade is  Beelzebub,  leading  the  procession,  and,  looking 
back  vr  ith  twinkling  eye,  and  leer  of  malicious  joy,  he  says, 
4 Here  is  fine  pomp  to  conduct  a soul  to  hell  Tvith  !’  Ah ! 
plumes  and  hearse  for  the  man  tvIio  is  being  conducted  to 
his  last  abode  in  Tophet ! A string  of  carriages  to  do  honor 
to  the  man  Tvhom  God  hath  cursed  in  life  and  cursed  in 
death  ; for  the  hope  of  the  hypocrite  is  evermore  an  ac- 
' cursed  one.  And  a bell  is  ringing,  and  the  clergyman 
is  reading  the  funeral  service,  and  is  burying  the  man  4 in 
sure  and  certain  hope.’  Oh ! Tvhat  a laugh  rings  up  from 
somewhere  a little  lower  down  than  the  grave!  4 In 


56 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


sure  and  certain  hope,’  says  Satan;  ‘ha!  ha  I your  sure 
and  certain  hope  is  folly  indeed.  Trust  to  a bubble,  and 
hope  to  fly  to  the  stars ; trust  to  the  wild  winds,  that 
they  shall  conduct  you  safely  to  heaven  ; but  trust  to 
such  a hope  as  that,  and  thou  art  a madman  indeed.’ 
Oh ! if  we  judged  rightly  when  a hypocrite  died,  we 
should  do  him  no  honor.  If  men  could  but  see  a little 
deeper  than  the  skin,  and  read  the  thoughts  of  the  heart, 
they  would  not  patronize  this  great,  black  lie,  and  lead  a 
long  string  of  carriages  through  the  streets;  they  would 
say,  ‘ No,  the  man  was  good  for  nothing,  he  was  the  out- 
ward skin  without  the  life  ; he  professed  to  be  what  he 
was  not ; he  lived  the  scornful  life  of  a deceiver ; let  him 
have  the  burial  of  Jeconiah  ; let  him  not  have  a funeral 
at  all ; let  him  be  cast  away  as  loathsome  carrion,  for 
that  is  all  he  is.’  When  a godly  man  dies,  ye  may  make 
lamentation  over  him,  ye  may  well  carry  him  with  solemn 
pomp  unto  his  grave,  for  there  is  an  odor  in  his  bones, 
there  is  a sweet  savor  about  him  that  even  God  delighteth 
in,  for  ‘ precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death  of 
His  saints.’  But  the  gilded  hypocrite,  the  varnished 
deceiver,  the  wTell  accoutred  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing — 
away  with  pomp  for  him ! Why  should  men  bewail 
him  ? They  do  not  do  it ; why  should  they  pretend  to 
do  so,  and  give  the  outward  semblance  of  a grief,  where 
they  feel  none  ?” 

Or  the  wicked  might  be  buried  in  a more  quiet  way  ; 


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57 


silently  laid  in  the  grave  with  none  to  mourn  for  him — 
men  standing  around  whom  delicacy  to  the  living  con- 
strained to  silence,  but  whom  truth  would  not  permit  to 
utter  hypocritic  praise.  Thus  contemplating  the  end  to 
which  all  must  come,  the  preacher  said  with  solemn  truth, 
M Brethren , after  all , we  ought  to  judge  ourselves  very 
much  in  the  light  of  our  funerals .”  And  I could  see 
that  he  was  thinking  of  what  might  be  said  of  him  when 
he  was  gone,  as  he  added, 

“ Oh  ! I would  desire  so  to  live  that  wdien  I leave  this 
mortal  state,  men  may  say,  ‘There  is  one  gone  wdio 
sought  to  make  the  world  better.  However  rough  his 
efforts  may  have  been,  he  wTas  an  honest  man;  he 
sought  to  serve  God,  and  there  lies  he  that  feared  not 
the  face  of  man.’  ” 

And  then,  as  if  to  heighten  by  contrast  the  effect  of  the 
dark  picture  he  had  drawn,  he  thus  portrayed  the  burial 
of  the  righteous : 

“ I remember  the  funeral  of  one  pastor — I attended  it. 
Many  ministers  of  the  Gospel  walked  behind  the  coffin  to 
attend  their  brother,  and  pay  honor  to  him ; and  then 
came  a long  string  of  members  of  the  Church,  every  one 
of  whom  wept  as  if  they  had  lost  a father.  And  I re- 
member the  solemn  sermon  that  was  preached  in  the 
chapel,  all  hung  with  black,  when  all  of  us  wept  because 
a great  man  had  fallen  that  day  in  Israel.  We  felt  that 

3* 


58 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


a prince  had  been  taken  from  us,  and  we  all  said,  like 
Elijah’s  servant,  c My  father,  my  father,  the  horses  of 
Israel  and  the  chariots  thereof!’ 

“ But  I have  seen  the  wicked  buried,  and  I saw  nothing 
of  this  sort.  I saw  a flickering  kind  of  sorrow,  like  the 
dying  of  a wick  that  is  almost  consumed.  I saw  that 
those  who  paid  a decent  respect  to  the  corpse  did  it  for 
the  widow’s  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  them  that  were  left 
behind ; but  if  they  could  have  dealt  with  the  corpse  as 
their  nature  seemed  to  dictate  they  ought  to  have  dealt 
with  the  man  when  living,  they  would  have  said,  ‘ Let 
him  be  buried  at  the  dead  of  night ; let  him  have  some 
unhallowed  corner  in  the  churchyard  wThere  the  nettle 
long  has  grown ; let  the  frog  croak  over  his  tomb ; let 
the  owl  make  her  resting-place  o’er  his  sepulchre,  and 
let  her  hoot  all  night  long,  for  hooted  he  well  deserves  to 
be ; let  no  laurel  and  no  cypress  grow  upon  his  grave, 
and  let  no  rose  twine  itself  as  a sweet  bower  around  the 
place  where  he  sleeps ; let  no  cowslip  and  no  lily  of  the 
valley  deck  the  grass  that  cover eth  him ; there  let  him 
lie ; let  not  the  greensward  grow,  but  let  the  place  be 
accursed  where  sleeps  the  hypocrite.” 

But  he  went  still  further  : 

“There  is  a sad  thing  yet  to  come.  We  must  look  a 
little  deeper  than  the  mere  ceremonial  of  the  burial,  and 
we  shall  see  that  there  is  a great  deal  more  in  some 
people’s  coffins  besides  their  corpses.  When  old  Robert 


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59 


Flockart  was  buried  a few  weeks  ago  in  Edinburgh,  he 
was  buried  as  I think  a Christian  minister  should  be,  for 
his  old  Bible  and  hymn-book  were  placed  upon  the  top 
of  the  coffin.  Had  he  been  a soldier,  I suppose  he  would 
have  had  his  sword  put  there ; but  he  had  been  a 
Christian  soldier,  and  so  they  buried  him  with  his  Bible 
and  hymn-book  as  his  trophies.  It  was  well  that  such  a 
trophy  should  be  on  that  coffin  ; but  there  is  a great  deal, 
as  I have  said,  inside  some  people’s  coffins.  If  w~e  had 
eyes  to  see  invisible  things,  and  we  could  break  the  lid 
of  the  hypocrite’s  coffin,  we  should  see  a great  deal  there. 
There  lie  all  his  hopes,  and  they  are  to  be  buried  with 
him.  Of  all  the  frightful  things  that  a man  can  look 
upon,  the  face  of  a dead  hope  is  the  most  horrible.  A 
dead  child  is  a pang  indeed  to  a mother’s  heart ; a dead 
wife  or  a dead  husband,  to  the  heart  of  the  bereaved, 
must  be  sorrowful  indeed ; but  a coffin  full  of  dead 
hopes — did  you  ever  see  such  a load  of  misery  carried  to 
the  grave  as  that  ? 

“ Wrapt  in  the  same  shroud,  there  lie  all  his  dead  pre- 
tensions. When  he  was  here  he  made  a pretension  of 
being  respectable ; there  lies  his  respect,  he  shall  be  a 
hissing  and  a reproach  forever.  He  made  a pretension 
of  . being  sanctified,  but  the  mask  is  off  now,  and  he 
stands  in  all  his  native  blackness.  And  so  he  sleeps.  The 
tongue  that  prattled  once  so  pleasantly  concerning  god- 
liness is  now  silent.  That  hypocritical  eye  that  once 
flashed  with  the  pretended  fire  of  joy — it  is  all  now  dark, 


60 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


dark.  That  brain  that  thought  of  inventions  to  deceive 
— the  worm  shall  feed  on  it.  And  that  heart  of  his, 
that  once  throbbed  beneath  ribs  that  were  scarcely 
thick  enough  to  hide  the  transparency  of  his  hypo- 
crisy shall  now  be  devoured  by  demons.  There  are  dead 
pretensions  inside  that  rotten  skeleton,  and  dead  hopes 
too. 

44  But  there  is  one  thing  that  sleeps  with  him  in  his 
coffin  that  he  had  set  his  heart  upon.  He  had  set  his 
heart  upon  being  known  after  he  was  gone.  He  thought 
surely  after  he  had  departed  this  life,  he  wTould  be  hand- 
ed down  to  posterity  and  be  remembered.  Now  read 
the  text — 4 And  they  were  forgotten  in  the  city  where 
they  had  so  done.’  There  is  his  hope  of  fame.  Every 
man  likes  to  live  a little  longer  than  his  life — Englishmen 
especially — for  there  is  scarcely  to  be  found  a rock  in  all 
England  up  which  even  a goat  can  hardly  climb, 
where  there  may  not  be  discovered  the  initials  of  the 
names  of  men,  who  never  had  any  other  mode  of  attain- 
ing to  fame,  and  therefore  thought  they  would  inscribe 
their  names  there.  Go  where  you  will,  you  find  men  at- 
tempting to  be  known  ; and  this  is  the  reason  why  many 
people  write  in  newspapers,  else  they  never  would  be 
known.  A hundred  little  inventions  we  all  of  us  have 
for  keeping  our  names  going  after  we  are  dead. 

44  But  with  the  wicked  man  it  is  all  in  vain ; he  shall  be 
forgotten.  He  lias  done  nothing  to  make  anybody  re- 
member him.  Ask  the  poor,  4 Do  you  remember  So-and 


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61 


so  ?’  4 Hard  master,  sir,  very.  He  always  cut  us  down 

to  the  last  sixpence ; and  we  do  not  wish  to  recollect 
him.’  Their  children  won’t  hear  his  name  ; they  will  for- 
get him  entirely.  Ask  the  Church,  1 Do  you  remember 
So-and-so  ? he  was  a member.’  4 Well,’  says  one,  4 1 re- 
member him  Certainly,  his  name  was  on  the  books,  but  we 
never  had  his  heart.  He  used  to  come  and  go,  but  I 
never  could  talk  with  him.  There  was  nothing  spiritual 
in  him.  There  was  a great  deal  of  sounding  bell-metal 
and  brass,  but  no  gold.  I never  could  discover  that  he 
had  the  root  of  the  matter  in  him.’  Ho  one  thinks  of 
him,  and  he  will  soon  be  forgotten.  The  chapel  grows 
old,  there  comes  up  another  congregation,  and  somehow 
or  other  they  talk  about  the  old  deacons  that  used  to  be 
there,  who  were  good  and  holy  men,  and  about  the  old 
lady,  that  used  to  be  so  eminently  useful  in  visiting  the 
sick ; about  the  young  man  who  rose  out  of  that  church, 
who  was  so  useful  in  the  cause  of  God  ; but  you  never  hear 
mention  made  of  his  name  ; he  is  quite  forgotten.  WTien 
he  died  his  name  was  struck  out  of  the  books ; he  was 
reported  as  being  dead,  and  all  remembrance  of  him  died 
with  him.  I have  often  noticed  how  soon  wicked  things  die 
wThen  the  man  dies  who  originated  them.  Look  at  V ol- 
taire’s  philosophy ; with  all  the  noise  it  made  in  his  time 
— where  is  it  now  ? There  is  just  a little  of  it  lingering, 
but  it  seems  to  have  gone.  And  there  was  Tom  Paine, 
who  did  his  best  to  w^rite  his  name  in  letters  of  damna- 
tion, and  one  would  think  he  might  have  been  remem- 


62 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


bered.  But  who  cares  for  him  now  ? What  is  a wicked 
man’s  body  but  a rotten  piece  of  noisomeness  ? Put  it 
away,  and  thank  God  there  are  worms  to  eat  such  a thing 
up,  and  thank  him  still  more,  that  there  is  a worm  called 
Time,  to  eat  up  the  evil  influence  and  the  accursed  mem- 
ory, which  such  a man  leaves  behind  him.” 

And  then  in  a few  solemn  words  the  preacher  wrote 
the  epitaph  of  the  wicked,  This  also  is  vanity,  showing 
the  folly  and  madness  of  the  course  which  led  to  this 
miserable  end. 

As  soon  as  the  sermon  was  closed,  there  wTere  signs  of 
a movement  near  the  door,  when  Mr.  Spurgeon  cried 
out,  u All  wTho  do  not  w^ant  a blessing,  can  go,”  and  im- 
mediately pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the  vast 
audience  slowly  dispersed. 

I have  given  you  this  full  description  of  the  sermon  as 
the  best  means  of  conveying  an  idea  of  Mr.  Spurgeon’s 
preaching.  Every  one  is  surprised  by  his  readiness  and 
fluency,  a gift  so  rare  especially  among  Englishmen. 
During  the  whole  of  this  long  discourse,  he  had  not  a 
note  or  a line  before  him.  It  w^as  purely  extemporaneous. 
It  was  taken  dowm  in  short-hand,  as  are  all  his  Sunday 
morning  sermons,  and  printed  in  a tract  form,  from  which 
I have  quoted  those  passages  wdiich  most  impressed  me 
in  the  delivery. 

But  what  I admired  yet  more  than  the  fluency  of 
speech,  wras  the  simplicity  of  the  language.  There  wras 


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63 


not  a word  which  could  not  be  understood  by  every- 
body. He  used  plain,  homely  phrases,  and  thus  the  truth 
was  brought  directly  into  contact  with  the  minds  of  his 
audience.  In  many  points  Mr.  Spurgeon  reminded  us 
strongly  of  Henry  Ward  Beecher — in  his  hearty  earnest- 
ness, in  his  blunt,  pithy  way  of  saying  a thing,  in  his 
touches  of  tenderness  and  occasional  gleams  of  humor, 
and  in  his  varied  imagination,  which  though  sometimes 
stooping  to  coarse  figures,  often  rises  to  the  use  of  imag- 
ery the  most  delicate  and  beautiful. 

From  all  this  you  will  readily  infer  that  we  came  away 
from  Surrey  Hall  with  a very  pleasant  impression.  I 
confess  we  had  gone  with  some  misgiving,  for  I had  so 
often  seen  a great  reputation  dwindle  as  it  was  ap- 
proached, that  I dreaded  to  have  another  illusion  dis- 
pelled. But  this  sermon  relieved  my  fears.  I had  seen 
Mr.  Spurgeon  criticised  and  ridiculed  in  the  English 
journals  as  a clerical  mountebank,  and  I did  not  know 
but  he  might  appear  as  a theatrical  performer  in  the  pul- 
pit. But  the  critic  who  can  deride  Mr.  Spurgeon  as  a 
charlatan,  must  be  insensible  to  any  demonstrations  of 
oratorical  power.  Ho  candid  listener  can  deny  to  him 
the  possession  of  great  talent,  and  when  the  amount  of 
his  labors  is  considered,  it  appears  still  more  remark- 
able. 

The  same  evening  we  heard  him  again  in  his  own 
chapel  in  Hew  Park  street,  and  after  the  service,  we  saw 
him  in  his  vestry  and  had  a very  pleasant  interview.  I 


64 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


had  a natural  apprehension  that  he  must  be  breaking 
down  from  excessive  labor.  But  he  assured  me  that  he 
was  in  robust  health.  He  said  that  his  constant  "speak- 
ing was  the  best  exercise  for  him,  and  that  he  should  die 
if  he  did  not  preach  twelve  times  a week.  I asked  him 
when  he  found  time  to  study,  to  which  he  replied  that  he 
could  give  but  little  preparation  to  his  sermons,  often 
entering  the  pulpit  with  not  more  than  fifteen  minutes 
previous  thought  of  his  subject. 

But  he  has  lately  contrived  to  secure  some  degree  of 
leisure.  He  has  taken  a house  by  Clapham  Common,  at 
several  miles’  distance  from  his  church,  to  avoid  inter- 
ruptions. His  deacons  do  all  his  visiting,  and  hence,  in 
the  interval  of  his  public  duties,  he  is  able  to  snatch  a 
few  hours  for  study  and  books.  I suspect,  too,  that  he 
has  read  largely  in  former  years.  He  appears  to  be  very 
familiar  with  the  old  divines,  especially  with  Bunyan, 
whom  he  calls  “ the  greatest  of  Englishmen.”  In  this 
very  sermon,  when  speaking  of  the  holy  dead,  he  paid  an 
eloquent  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  marvellous  dreamer. 
Traces  of  his  familiarity  with  the  writings  of  Bunyan  are 
seen  everywhere  in  his  style. 

Such  are  my  impressions  of  Mr.  Spurgeon.  I rank  him 
very  highly  among  the  living  men  of  his  country.  Some- 
times I hear  a fling  at  him,  that  he  is  a coarse,  vulgar 
man,  and  that  he  is  puffed  up  with  conceit.  Perhaps  he 
is  vain  of  his  popularity.  I can  only  say  that  I did  not 
discover  it  in  his  public  preaching,  nor  in  his  private  con- 


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65 


versation.  As  to  liis  low  breeding,  certainly  he  has  not 
an  aristocratic  air.  As  he  has  sprung  out  of  the  ground, 
he  shows  plain  marks  of  his  origin.  He  is  of  the  earth, 
earthy.  But  that  very  fact  may  give  him  half  his  power. 
His  thoughts  and  language  are  racy  of  the  soil,  and  thus 
he  is  fitted  to  be  what  he  is — not  a fashionable  preacher, 
but  a real  tribune  of  the  people,  swaying  the  hearts  of 
thousands  of  men.  I think  he  would  have  been  injured 
rather  than  benefited  if  he  had  been  educated  at  one  of 
the  universities,  and  spent  the  years  in  studying  Latin 
and  Greek,  which  he  has  turned  to  much  better  account 
in  studying  Bunyan  and  the  people  of  England.  Let 
critics  carp  at  him  if  they  will.  I shall  still  love,  and 
honor,  and  admire  Mr.  Spurgeon — as  a man  of  rare  elo- 
quence, and  what  is  better  still,  of  a great  and  noble 
Christian  heart — a heart  that  loves  his  fellow-men,  and 
seeks  their  good,  and  I believe  that  God  has  raised  him 
up  to  be  a great  blessing  to  England. 


'M 


CHAPTER  IV. 


English  Manners — Reserve — Pride — Snobbery — Worship  of  Rank 
— Better  Qualities — English  Hearts  and  English  Homes. 

London,  June , 1858. 

When  two  Americans  meet  in  England,  the  first  ques- 
tion they  ask  each  other,  after  bowing  and  shaking 
hands,  is,  What  do  you  think  of  these  English  ? Each 
answers  according  to  his  own  experience.  As  he  has 
chanced  to  fall  in  with  favorable  specimens  or  otherwise, 
so  is  his  judgment  of  the  whole  people,  which  he  is  not 
slow  to  express  in  that  peculiarly  energetic  and  forcible 
language  in  which  Brother  Jonathan  is  apt  to  set  forth 
his  ideas  of  men  and  nations.  One  who  should  keep 
silence  and  listen  to  these  off-hand  verdicts,  would  be 
amused  by  their  variety.  I hear  so  many  contradictory 
opinions  that  I feel  much  hesitation  in  expressing  my 
own.  Xor  is  this  diffidence  diminished  by  seeing  the 
srreater  carefulness  of  those  who  know  more. 

W e have  in  Liverpool  a very  excellent  representative 
of  our  countrymen  in  the  person  of  Rev.  William  H. 
Channing,  of  Boston,  who  has  spent  five  years  in  that 
city,  preaching  to  a Unitarian  congregation.  He  is  a 
man  of  fine  culture  and  of  large  and  liberal  heart ; full 

6G 


ENGLISII  MANNERS. 


67 


of  enthusiasm  for  all  that  is  true,  noble,  and  beautiful, 
wherever  he  finds  it ; and  whose  reverence  for  the  Old 
World  is  only  equalled  by  his  hope  for  the  New.  The 
other  day  a friend  of  mine,  who  had  just  landed  from 
America,  asked  him  the  usual  question,  What  he  thought 
of  the  English  ? His  answer  was  very  significant.  lie 
said  he  did  not  think  he  understood  them  so  well  as  he 
did  when  he  came  to  England  five  years  before ! I com- 
mend this  answer  to  those  who  are  so  prompt  and  even 
flippant  in  their  judgment  of  a great  people.  If  a man 
of  so  much  intelligence,  and  with  such  excellent  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  the  better  class  of  English  society,  has 
to  confess  himself  perplexed  in  trying  to  comprehend 
the  English  character,  a stranger  who  has  been  but  a 
few  weeks  in  the  country  had  better  be  modest  in  ex- 
pressing his  opinion.  At  least  it  will  be  safer  to  confine 
himself  to  marked  and  salient  points. 

It  does  not  surprise  me  at  all  to  hear  opinions  so 
diverse,  for  it  is  clear  to  the  least  penetrating  observer, 
that  the  English  character  combines  some  most  contra- 
dictory elements,  so  that  a man  can  hardly  mingle  with 
them  for  a few  days  without  finding  himself  in  different 
moods,  alternately  attracted  and  repelled. 

Equally  clear  is  it  that  the  outside  of  the  English 
character  is  not  the  best  side.  Yet,  unfortunately,  it  is 
all  which  most  travellers  see.  A young  American  comes 
to  England,  full  of  interest  and  admiration  for  the  coun- 
try of  his  fathers.  Yet  he  hardly  gets  on  shore  before 


C8 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


his  enthusiasm  suffers  a rude  shock.  His  first  experi- 
ence falls  upon  him  like  a shower  bath.  At  his  landing, 
he  is  thrown,  like  Jonah  into  the  whale’s  mouth,  into  the 
jaws  of  the  Custom-house,  where  he  is  apt  to  be  roughly 
handled.  This  is  his  introduction  to  John  Bull,  and  he 
comes  out  of  his  embraces,  thinking  he  is  but  a surly 
fellow. 

This  is  experience  No.  1.  Now  for  experience  No  2. 
lie  gets  into  a railway  carriage,  and  begins  to  ride  over 
the  country.  He  is  full  of  eager  curiosity,  and  has  a 
thousand  questions  to  ask  of  what  he  sees.  But  his 
travelling  companions  are  not  at  all  communicative. 
For  the  interchange  of  thought  that  passes  between 
them,  they  might  as  well  be  deaf  and  dumb.  This 
reserve  wounds  the  pride  of  a stranger.  An  American 
especially  likes  to  talk  and  to  exercise  his  national  lib- 
erty of  asking  questions.  And  this  distant  manner, 
which  repels  intercourse,  he  resents  as  a silent  insult,  as 
a disdain  of  his  society.  One  must  be  disposed  to  judge 
very  kindly  of  his  fellow-creatures,  who  can  ride  all  day 
in  the  same  carriage  with  a man  who  deigns  him  never 
a word,  without  thinking  in  his  heart  that  he  is  a dis- 
agreeable churl.  If  this  be  a prejudice,  it  is  certainly  a 
very  natural  one,  and  one  which  it  takes  a long  time  to 
cure. 

And  yet  nothing  can  be  more  unjust  than  to  impute 
this  reserve  always  to  pride  or  disdain,  or  to  suppose 
that  it  is  manifested  only  towards  foreigners.  I find,  in 


RESERVE. 


GO 


conversing  with  Englishmen,  that  they  are  as  fully  con- 
scious of  it  as  we  can  be,  and  often  are  quite  as  much 
embarrassed  by  it.  A gentleman  of  London,  who  is  a 
man  of  large  fortune,  told  me  that  on  one  occasion  he 
left  for  the  north,  I think  for  Edinburgh.  In  the  rail- 
way carriage  were  three  gentlemen  besides  himself. 
Yet  not  a word  was  spoken.  Each  sat  in  his  corner 
silent.  Thus  they  rode  on  for  two  hundred  miles  with- 
out saying  a word.  At  York  the  train  stopped  fora 
few  minutes,  and  they  got  out.  As  they  returned  to 
their  seats,  one  ventured  the  presumptuous  remark  that 
“ it  was  a miserable  day”  (it  had  been  raining  ever  since 
they  started),  to  which  another  had  the  audacity  to 
reply,  that  “ they  had  been  as  miserable  as  the  day.” 
That  broke  the  ice,  and  the  waters  began  to  flow.  From 
that  moment  they  kept  up  a constant  stream  of  conver- 
sation all  the  way  to  Scotland. 

This  incident,  which  is  only  one  of  ten  thousand, 
shows  that  English  reserve,  in  many  cases,  is  not  the 
effect  of  pride,  but  of  shyness.  These  four  travelling 
companions  were  silent,  not  because  each  disdained  the 
others,  but  because  each  feare'd  thve  others,  and  hesitated 
to  make  advances  lest  he*should  be  repulsed.  Every 
one  of  these  travellers  may  have  been  a most  amiable 
gentleman,  full  of  intelligence,  and  “ ready  to  communi- 
cate,” but  a mutual  awe  sealed  their  lips.  The  true 
explanation,  therefore,  of  English  taciturnity,  is  not  to 
be  found  in  a sour  or  sullen  temper,  but  in  the  extent  to 


70 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


which  class  distinctions  are  carried,  from  wrhich  every 
man  is  afraid  to  make  advances  to  a stranger,  lest  he 
intrude  on  the  greatness  of  some  one  above  him,  or 
stoop  to  a person  of  lower  grade,  whom  he  will  find  it 
convenient  to  drop.  These  odious  distinctions  are  the 
great  bar  to  social  intercourse,  the  chief  barrier  to  gen- 
eral friendliness  and  courtesy. 

But  the  great  vice  of  the  English  character,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  foreigners,  that  which  most  affronts  the  self- 
respect  of  every  man  who  sets  foot  upon  this  island,  and 
which  begets  all  which  is  most  offensive  in  English  man- 
ners, is — not  reserve,  for  that  disappears  on  acquaintance 
— but  another  quality  wrhich  never  disappears — Pride. 
Every  Englishman  seems  to  carry  about  with  him  a con- 
sciousness of  the  greatness  of  his  country,  a sense  of  the 
majesty  of  Britain,  which  will  not  depart  from  him. 
Wherever  he  goes,  he  never  forgets  that  England  is  the 
greatest  empire  on  earth,  and  he  thinks  privately  that 
no  small  part  of  its  greatness  is  incarnated  in  himself. 
And  this  makes  him  alternately  haughty  and  patronizing 
in  his  treatment  of  men  of  other  nations. 

Probably  no  foreigners  are  so  sensitive  to  this  as  our 
countrymen,  precisely  because  it  jars  rudely  on  their 
own  sense  of  importance.  An  American  puts  himself 
in  the  way  of  offence,  for  surely  as  he  begins  to  talk,  he 
will  talk  about  his  country,  which,  of  course,  he  thinks 
bhe  greatest  country  on  earth — not  yet  having  seen  any 
other — and  this  touches  the  pride  of  John  Bull,  who  is 


PRIDE SNOBBERY. 


11 


apt  to  reply  by  a stout  assertion  of  the  unapproachable 
greatness  of  England,  or  more  likely  by  a quiet  disdain. 
He  shuts  his  mouth  firmly,  as  if  he  had  the  lockjaw, 
scorning  to  reply  to  Yankee  ignorance  and  imperti- 
nence. 

Or  if  he  be  of  a mild  temper,  he  will  perhaps  be 
benignant,  and  even  deign  some  mark  of  his  approba- 
tion. If  you  tell  him  of  the  greatness  of  the  world  be- 
yond the  sea,  he  breathes  upon  you  an  ineffable  smile — 
like  that  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Cliadband — which  seems 
to  say,  You  are  a very  nice  young  gentleman,  and 
America  is  a promising  country  for  a young  one.  Go 
on,  my  children,  for  a few  hundred  years,  and  you  may 
approach  the  stature  of  your  father ! 

Of  these  two  phases  of  English  manners,  the  lofty  or 
the  condescending,  it  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  the  more 
offensive.  An  American  cannot  bear  to  be  snubbed,  nor 
to  be  patronized.  Either  mode  of  address  implies  a 
superiority,  that  wounds  him  in  • his  tenderest  point,- 
which  is  a sensitive  national  vanity. 

But  pride,  standing  alone,  though  cold,  distant,  and 
repulsive — still  has  in  it  a certain  dignity,  were  it  not 
belittled  by  its  union  with  another  quality,  which  seems 
the  very  opposite,  yet  which  often  dwells  in  the  same 
breast.  It  is  obsequiousness  and  servility.  It  is  the 
union  of  these  two  repellent  traits  which  makes  the  gen- 
uine snob — a character  which,  if  we  are  to  credit  their 
own  writers,  abounds  in  England.  Nowhere  on  earth, 


72 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


unless  it  be  in  the  most  despotic  Asiatic  empires,  is  there 
a more  servile  worship  of  rank.  An  American  can 
hardly  believe  his  senses  when  he  sees  the  abasement  of 
soul  which  seizes  the  middle  classes  in  the  presence  of  a 
lord.  They  look  up  to  him  as  a superior  being,  with  a 
reverence  approaching  to  awe.  The  very  men  who 
carry  their  heads  so  high  to  foreigners,  he  sees  now 
sinking  into  the  dust  of  humility,  and  his  previous  re- 
sentment turns  into  disgust  and  contempt.  “Ah  ha!” 
he  exclaims,  scornfully,  “This  is  the  great  English  na- 
tion ! It  is  a nation  of  snobs — insolent  to  all  whom  they 
think  they  can  insult  with  impunity,  yet  cowed  and 
cringing  to  the  lowest  degree  before  their  own  mas- 
ters.” 

This  servility  gives  the  American  a brave  chance  to 
retort  the  taunts  which  he  hears  in  regard  to  slavery : 
“ Slavery ! where  is  there  more  slavery  than  in  England 
— slavery,  not  indeed  of  the  body,  but  of  the  soul  ? 
The  worshippers  of  the  Grand  Lama  are  not  more  abject 
and  servile  adorers  of  power  than  these  boasting  Brit- 
ons, that  never,  never  will  be  slaves !” 

“ Hear  them  prate  about  freedom  and  humanity  ! It 
is  all  disgusting  cant.  Humanity ! What  do  they  care 
for  humanity  ? A true  respect  for  man  is  not  known  in 
the  British  Islands.  It  is  rank  and  power  that  are  wor- 
shipped. But  for  simple  manhood  there  is  not  even 
common  respect.  If  a stranger  crosses  their  path,  the 
first  question  is  not,  What  is  he?  but  who  is  he ? What 


WORSHIP  OF  EA^K. 


73 


is  his  name  and  family?  It  is  not  enough  that  upon 
every  feature  God  hath  set  his  seal  to  give  the  world 
assurance  of  a man.  Even  transcendent  genius,  the  in- 
spiration of  the  Almighty,  is  nothing  compared  with 
noble  blood,  though  it  be  blood  that  has  been  defiled 
and  corrupted  by  flowing  through  generations  of  profli- 
gate ancestors !” 

This  degrading  class  worship  does  not  exist  merely 
in  the  imagination  of  a stranger.  It  is  the  lament  of 
every  man  of  high  spirit  in  England,  and  the  butt  of 
constant  sarcasm  and  ridicule.  What  are  the  novels  of 
Thackeray  but  stinging  satires  upon  that  snobbery  of 
which  England  is  full  ? Who  has  written  in  more  bit- 
ter scorn  of  this  flunkeyism — as  he  calls  it — than  Kings- 
ley ? Perhaps  the  eyes  of  literary  men  are  sharpened  by 
a keen  sensibility  to  their  own  position.  The  position 
of  a literary  man  in  England,  it  has  been  said,  is  “ a hell 
of  humiliations.”  Conscious  of  great  powers,  they  feel 
that  they  are  entitled  to  the  first  social  position  in  their 
country  as  they  are  at  the  head  of  its  intellect.  And 
yet  they  find  themselves  set  back  in  the  second  or  third 
rank,  far  behind  men  who  are  not  worthy  to  untie  the 
latchet  of  their  shoes.  Yet  such  is  the  overshadowing 
power  of  rank,  that  even  those  who  protest  against  it, 
who  try  to  scorn  it  and  satirize  it,  still  bow  to  its  influ- 
ence. Even  Thackeray  is  accused  of  stooping  to  play 
the  courtier  in  noble  houses.  It  is  said  tauntingly — I 
know  not  if  truly — that  he  seeks  more  the  smile  of  lords 

4 


74 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


and  ladies  than  to  touch  the  great  heart  of  England,  and 
would  rather  be  admitted  to  their  society  than  be  the 
first  literary  man  in  the  realm. 

Can  anything  be  more  degrading  than  a class  spirit 
which  thus  eats  out  the  manliness  of  the  noblest  minds, 
and  which  humbles  the  great  middle  class,  which  is  a 
nation’s  glory  and  strength  ? It  is  humiliating  to  see  a 
spirit  so  abject  in  a nation  that  has  so  many  titles  to  our 
reverence ; that  has  acted  so  grand  a part  in  history, 
and  that  still  stretches  out  her  imperial  arm  to  rule  a 
large  part  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe. 

I have  put  in  the  foreground  these  harsher  traits  of 
English  manners,  because  they  are  those  which  first 
strike  the  eye  of  a foreigner,  and  which  create  such  a 
violent  antipathy  to  the  whole  people,  amounting  in 
some  of  my  countrymen  to  a perfect  Anglophobia.  I 
know  that  manners  are  not  character.  But  they  are  its 
most  natural  index  and  expression.  And  these  diversi- 
ties of  address — now  brusque  and  rude,  and  now  gra- 
cious and  condescending — are  interpreted  by  foreigners 
as  signs  of  that  imperious  temper,  which  they  believe  is 
natural  to  every  Englishman;  that  lofty  consciousness 
of  his  own  greatness,  and  disdain  of  the  rest  of  mankind, 
which  is  the  presiding  sentiment  of  his  thoughts,  the 
very  centre  and  core  of  his  soul,  the  spinal  column  of  his 
character.  This  may  be  a rash  and  hasty  judgment,  but 
Brother  Jonathan  decides  quickly,  and  speaks  his  mind 


* 


BETTER  QUALITIES. 


75 


in  no  ambiguous  manner,  and  I’ll  venture,  if  you  were 
to  ask  one  of  these  plain-spoken  Yankees — after  he  has 
travelled  a week  or  two  in  England — what  he  thinks  of 
great  John  Bull,  he  would  answer  in  terms  more  forcb 
ble  than  elegant,  Cold  as  ice,  and  proud  as  Satan ! 

Nothing  is  more  useless  than  to  combat  an  inveterate 
national  prejudice,  especially  when  it  has  a partial  basis 
of  truth,  as  this  has,  in  the  reserved  and  distant  English 
manners.  The  only  hope  is,  that  a better  acquaintance 
may  correct  the  first  unfavorable  impression.  But  the 
misfortune  of  most  Americans  who  come  to  England  is, 
that  they  do  not  remain  long  enough  in  the  country  to 
see  anything  of  the  interior  of  its  social  life.  They  spend 
but  a few  wreeks  travelling  through  all  parts  of  Great 
Britain.  They  are  mere  birds  of  passage,  on  their  way 
to  the  sunnier  clime  of  the  south  of  Europe.  Of  course, 
their  acquaintance  with  the  people — if  such  it  deserves  to 
be  called — is  of  the  slightest.  Meeting  them  only  on 
the  great  lines  of  travel,  on  railways,  and  at  hotels,  they 
see  only  the  outside,  and  the  rough  side,  of  the  English 
character.  And  so  their  first  impressions  remain  with 
them  to  the  last. 

The  partial  knowledge  thus  acquired,  serves  rather  to 
mislead  than  to  enlighten.  To  judge  the  English  justly, 
one  should  know  them  well,  or  not  at  all.  Half  know- 
ledge is  worse  than  no  knowledge,  since  it  serves  only 
to  create  prejudice.  And  to  know  the  English  well,  one 
should  know  the  homes  of  England,  for  it  is  there  that 


V6 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  national  character  comes  out  truest  and  best.  Could 
our  testy  countryman,  who  rides  over  the  fair  face  of 
this  island  in  a railway  carriage,  discussing  the  while 
Slavery  and  Repudiation,  come  down  from  his  flying 
car  and  visit  yonder  cottages  by  the  hedge  rows,  and 
those  princely  villas  under  the  ancestral  oaks,  and  see 
the  interior  life  of  English  families,  he  would  soon 
change  his  opinion,  for  he  would  find  there  much  to 
admire  and  to  love.  He  would  find  this  people,  so  cold 
in  appearance,  full  of  domestic  virtues.  Ho  man  on 
earth  has  stronger  household  affections  than  an  English- 
man. Ho  man  has  a better  governed  family — children 
more  respectful  and  obedient,  and  in  no  human  habi- 
tation is  there  more  mutual  affection,  more  true  love 
and  happiness. 

One  glimpse  at  such  a domestic  scene  opens  the  eyes 
of  a stranger  to  a new  phase  of  English  character.  He 
finds,  too,  that  when  he  is  once  admitted  within  that 
sacred  pale,  no  reception  could  be  more  cordial.  In  fact, 
the  very  reserve  which  isolates  an  Englishman  from 
those  “with  whom  he  is  not  acquainted,”  leads  to  a 
warmer  and  fuller  outgushing  of  the  heart  in  the  chan- 
nels where  it  is  permitted  to  flow.  This  people  are,  in- 
deed, shy  of  strangers.  To  have  any  claim  on  then* 
good  offices,  you  must  come  duly  authenticated  as  in  all 
respects  a proper  person.  But  when  you  are  thus  tick- 
eted and  labelled,  all  doors  fly  open,  and  there  is  no  end 
to  English  kindness  and  hospitality. 


ENGLISH  HEARTS  AND  ENGLISH  HOMES. 


77 


Then  comes  out  “ the  better  soul”  of  an  Englishman. 
The  crusty  manner  is  all  gone,  and  the  stranger  finds 
that  underneath  this  rough  exterior  lies  concealed  a 
nature  soft  and  gentle  as  a woman’s.  Though  his  breast 
is  bound  round  with  thick  ribs,  they  cover  a great 
heart  which  beats  with  a strong  and  healthy  motion. 
There  is  no  man  who  does  himself  such  injustice  as  an 
Englishman.  In  appearance  he  is  a rough  and  impassi- 
ble being,  hard  and  cold  as  a rock.  Yet  deep  within  that 
living  stone,  there  is  a perennial  spring  of  pure  and 
noble  feeling,  and  whoever  can  strike  the  rock,  may 
make  the  waters  flow. 

In  the  reaction  of  feeling  produced  by  these  new 
aspects  of  English  character,  one  is  apt  to  lean  the  other 
way,  and  no  sooner  is  he  well  used  to  them,  than  he  be- 
gins to  like  some  of  John  Bull’s  rough  points,  which, 
like  the  knobs  on  the  British  oak,  are  the  signs  of  sturdy 
strength.  I cannot  go  to  the  extreme  of  those,  who, 
after  stoutly  abusing  John  Bull,  suddenly  turn  round  and 
offer  incense  to  him,  and  who  now  find  something  to  ad- 
mire even  in  his  red  nose  and  his  gouty  toe ! But  I can 
put  up  with  blunt  manners,  when  coupled  with  a true 
and  manly  heart.  John  Bull  is  an  honest  fellow,  the 
world  over.  He  will  not  lie,  and  pretend  to  be  your 
friend,  when  he  means  to  betray  you.  And  though  he 
treats  you  rather  suspiciously  at  first,  as  if  you  had  come 
about  “him  to  pick  the  old  gentleman’s  pockets,  when 
once  he  finds  that  you  also  are  a true  man,  he  gives  you 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


78 

his  hand,  and  is  a friend  for  life,  ready  to  stand  by  you  in 
all  your  quarrels,  and  to  fight  your  battles  for  you. 

As  for  the  English  pride,  it  must  be  confessed  that  it 
is  rather  an  unamiable  trait.  Yet  even  this  has  its  good 
effect  upon  the  general  character.  Pride  is  not  always 
a bad  quality,  either  in  a nation  or  an  individual.  It 
produces  self-respect  and  a scorn  of  baseness,  and  where 
not  carried  to  inordinate  excess,  it  sits  well  on  the  char- 
acter. In  a nation  it  produces  a dignity  of  public  ac- 
tion. For  one  thing  I admire  the  pride  of  England.  It 
makes  her  nobly  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  the  world. 
There  is  something  grand  in  the  repose  of  the  British 
lion.  A hundred  petty  creatures  may  seek  to  worry 
him,  may  pull  his  mane,  and  almost  tweak  his  royal 
nose,  yet  the  king  of  beasts  does  not  move  a muscle. 
Would  that  our  country  had  a little  of  this  calm  self- 
respect,  which  is  inspired  by  conscious  power — a proud 
disdain  of  that  foreign  criticism,  to  which  she  now  ap- 
pears so  absurdly  sensitive ! 

And  this  suggests  a prudent  reflection  on  ourselves, 
which  may  check  a harsh  judgment  of  our  neighbors. 
It  may  be  said  of  nations,  as  of  individuals,  Let  him  that 
is  without  sin  cast  the  first  stone ! When  tempted  to 
reproach  the  English  for  their  disagreeable  traits,  my 
tongue  is  checked  by  remembrance  of  our  own  deficien- 
cies. If  English  pride  wounds  our  dignity,  it  is  not 
more  offensive  to  good  taste  than  American  vanity.  In- 
deed, it  is  the  nobler  quality  of  the  two.  Willingly 


ENGLISH  HEARTS  AND  ENGLISH  HOMES.  79 

would  I exchange  our  national  trait  for  that  of  the  En- 
glish, or  at  least,  “ go  half  and  half.” 

As  for  the  snobbery  which  we  charge  upon  English- 
men, I think  I have  heard  of  such  a thing  even  in  the 
model  republic.  Are  all  men  modest  in  America?  Are 
all  delicately  considerate  and  respectful  of  the  rights  of 
others?  Have  we  no  upstarts  among  us,  vulgar  and 
insolent,  taking  airs  to  themselves,  and  oblivious  of  their 
equals  or  their  betters  ? Perhaps  it  is  safer  not  to  invite 
comparisons. 

As  for  distinction  of  classes,  we  have  none  recognized 
by  law,  but  have  we  no  social  distinctions?  Just  as 
truly  as  they  have  in  England,  only  that  the  lines  are 
not  as  broad,  and  the  walls  are  not  as  high,  and  so  the 
distinctions  are  not  as  permanent.  They  are  founded 
also  on  other  titles,  whether  higher  or  nobler  it  is  for 
the  world  to  judge.  If  it  be  unworthy  of  a great  nation 
to  give  such  distinction  to  the  accident  of  birth,  is  it 
much  more  honorable  in  us  to  make  a god  of  money  ? 
There  is  something  to  be  proud  of  in  a long  line  of  noble 
ancestors,  which  may  inspire  a dignity  in  the  character. 
But  have  we  gained  much  by  throwing  down  the  idol 
of  aristocracy,  if  we  at  once  set  up  in  its  place  a golden 
calf,  to  which  we  bid  all  men  bow  down  and  worship  ? 
It  is  much  easier  to  abolish  the  name  of  distinctions  in 
society  than  to  get  rid  of  the  thing.  And  we  need  to 
look  well  to  it,  that  in  banishing  a hereditary  nobility, 
we  do  not  supply  its  place  by  a more  vulgar  aristocracy. 


80 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


4 

Of  the  greater  claims  of  England,  to  the  respect  of 
the  world — to  the  honor,  the  love,  and  the  gratitude  of 
mankind,  I need  not  speak.  Her  history,  is  it  not  writ- 
ten on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth?  Nay,  wherein  we 
boast  of  our  own  greatness,  do  we  not  reflect  glory  upon 
her  ? F or,  after  all,  is  not  England  our  mother  ? Has 
not  America,  with  all  her  youthful  strength,  and  un- 
bounded hope,  come  out  of  her  loins  ? Let  us,  then, 
think  kindly,  nay,  lovingly,  and  proudly,  of  that  great 
people,  in  whose  history  our  ancestors  have  borne  a 
part,  and  to  which  wye  are  still  bound  by  the  ties  of  one 
blood,  one  language,  and  one  religion. 

When  I think  of  all  that  England  is — of  her  intelli- 
gence, learning,  and  virtue  ; of  her  universities,  founded 
centuries  ago,  and  illustrated  by  great  discoveries,  and 
immortal  names ; of  her  men  of  science,  and  of  letters  ; 
of  her  writers,  w7ho  are  the  instructors,  the  delight,  and 
the  solace  of  all  who  speak  the  English  tongue  ; of  her 
wTidely  diffused  intelligence ; of  the  general  culture  of 
mind,  and  refinement  of  manners ; of  the  valor  of  her 
sons,  and  the  loveliness  of  her  daughters ; of  her  ten 
thousands  of  happy,  Christian  homes — I think  that  this 
island  is  the  very  ark  of  the  world,  in  which  all  that  is 
most  precious  is  enshrined. 


CHAPTER  V. 


England  and  the  Continent — Normandy — Dieppe — The  Cliff,  the 
Castle  and  the  Beach — Rouen — Paris. 

An  American  is  not  fairly  in  Europe  until  he  reaches  the 
Continent.  -England  carries  him  back  hundreds  of  years, 
far  beyond  the  time  of  Columbus.  Yet  it  has  not  quite 
the  aspect  of  hoary  antiquity  with  which  it  has  been 
clothed  in  his  imagination.  It  is  not  ancient  and  moss- 
grown.  It  has  too  many  “ modern  improvements,”  and 
in  this  is  too  much  like  his  own  country.  And  it  is,  not 
until  he  has  left  the  Island,  and  sets  foot  upon  the  solid 
Continent,  that  he  finds  himself  in  contact  with  the  old, 
old  world — “the  world  before  the  flood.”  But  once  here, 
the  illusion  is  perfect.  Here  are  old  walls  and  towers, 
old  castles  and  cathedrals,  which  no  rude  hand  of  im- 
provement has  been  suffered  to  touch.  Here  they  stand 
from  century  to  century,  grand  and  noble  in  their  very 
decay,  the  mighty  monuments  of  former  generations. 

This  difference  is  acknowledged  by  intelligent  En- 
glishmen. Says  Ruskin : 

“ I cannot  find  words  to  express  the  intense  pleasure  I 
have  always  in  first  finding  myself,  after  some  prolonged 

4*  s; 


82 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


stay  in  England,  at  the  foot  of  the  old  tower  of  Calais 
church.  The  large  neglect,  the  noble  unsightliness  of  it ; 
the  record  of  its  years  written  so  visibly,  yet  without 
sign  of  weakness  or  decay ; its  stern  wasteness  and  gloom, 
eaten  away  by  the  Channel  winds,  and  overgrown  with 
the  bitter  sea  grasses ; its  slates  and  tiles  all  shaken  and 
rent,  and  yet  not  falling ; its  desert  of  brickwork  full  of 
bolts,  and  holes,  and  ugly  fissures,  and  yet  strong  like  a 
bare,  brown  rock ; its  carelessness  of  what  any  one  thinks 
or  feels  about  it,  putting  forth  no  claim,  having  no  beau- 
ty, nor  desirableness,  pride  nor  grace ; yet  neither  ask- 
ing for  pity ; not,  as  ruins  are,  useless  and  piteous,  feebly 
or  fondly  garrulous  of  better  days;  but  useful  still,  going 
through  its  own  daily  work — as  some  old  fisherman 
beaten  grey  by  storm,  yet  drawing  his  daily  nets;  so 
it  stands,  with  no  complaint  about  its  past  youth,  in 
blanched  and  meagre  massiveness  and  serviceableness, 
gathering  human  souls  together  underneath  it ; the 
sound  of  its  bells  for  prayer  still  rolling  through  its 
rents ; and  the  grey  peak  of  it  seen  far  across  the  sea, 
principal  of  the  three  that  rise  above  the  waste  of  surfy 
sand  and  hillocked  shore,  the  lighthouse  for  life,  and 
the  belfry  for  labor,  and  this  for  patience  and  praise. 

“ I cannot  tell  the  half  of  the  strange  pleasures  and 
thoughts  that  come  about  me  at  the  sight  of  that  old 
sower ; for,  in  some  sort,  it  is  the  epitome  of  all  that 
makes  the  Continent  of  Europe  interesting,  as  opposed 
to  new  countries ; and  above  all,  it  completely  expresses 


ENGLAND  AND  THE  CONTINENT.  83 

that  agodness  in  the  midst  of  active  life,  which  binds 
the  old  and  the  new  into  harmony.  We  in  England 
have  our  new  streets,  our  new  inn,  our  green  shaven 
lawn,  and  our  piece  of  ruin  emergent  from  it — a mere 
specimen  of  the  middle  ages  put  on  a bit  of  velvet  car- 
pet to  be  shown,  which,  but  for  its  size,  might  as  wrell 
be  on  the  museum  shelf  at  once,  under  cover.  But  on 
the  Continent,  the  links  are  unbroken  between  the  past 
and  the  present,  and  in  such  use  as  they  can  serve  for, 
the  grey  headed  wrecks  are  suffered  to  stay  with  men  ; 
while,  in  unbroken  line,  the  generations  of  spared  build- 
ings are  seen  succeeding  each  in  its  place.  And  thus  in 
its  largeness,  in  its  permitted  evidence  of  slow  decline, 
in  its  poverty,  in  its  absence  of  all  pretence,  of  all  show 
and  care  for  outside  aspect,  that  Calais  tower  has  an  infi- 
nite of  symbolism  in  it,  all  the  more  striking  because 
usually  seen  in  contrast  with  English  scenes  expressive 
of  feelings  the  exact  reverse  of  these.” 

In  coming  into  France  we  had  a wish  to  pass  through 
the  ancient  province  of  Normandy.  No  part  of  the 
kingdom  has  been  so  closely  connected  with  England 
from  the  time  of  the  Conquest.  The  very  coasts  corres- 
pond,— the  white  chalk  cliffs  standing  face  to  face  on 
either  side  of  the  Channel.  So  instead  of  the  more 
direct  route  from  London  to  Paris,  by  Boulogne,  we 
came  down  on  the  Brighton  railway  to  Newhaven,  and 
crossed  to  Dieppe.  We  were  not  up  to  the  quay  before 


84 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


we  felt  the  foreign  atmosphere.  There  was  a crowd 
upon  the  shore,  but  not  a man  among  them  could  be 
mistaken  for  a bluff  and  burly  Briton,  stout  with  beef 
and  beer,  with  face  red  and  round  as  the  harvest 
moon.  Those  lank  limbs  were  never  made  in  Eng- 
land. Even  the  officers  of  the  law,  that  generally 
grow  flit  with  dignity,  had  a lean  and  hungry  look. 
The  gens  d’armes,  that  stood  to  receive  us  on  the  quay, 
with  their  long  swords  and  cocked  hats,  presented  the 
same  stiff  appearance  as  in  Hogarth’s  caricatures  of  the 
French  a hundred  years  ago.  The  women,  too,  clattered 
about  with  their  wooden  shoes  and  with  the  high  caps 
of  Hormandy ; and  both  men  and  women  kept  up  a 
ceaseless  jabber  in  a foreign  tongue. 

Dieppe,  like  Dover  on  the  English  coast,  has  its  white 
chalk  cliff, 

“ Whose  high  and  bending  head 
Looks  fearfully  in  the  confined  deep,” 

and  from  its  summit  an  old  castle  looks  out  far  and  wide 
upon  the  waters.  It  has,  too,  like  Calais,  its  old  church, 
that  of  St.  Jacques,  at  the  foot  of  whose  tower  a foreign 
pilgrim  can  muse  and  meditate. 

Though  now  but  a small  fishing  town,  and  visited  by 
the  fashionable  world  only  for  its  sea  bathing,  Dieppe  has 
been  in  its  day  a place  of  renown.  Three  hundred  years 
ago  it  was  the  chief  seaport  in  France.  It  had  its  ships 
that  made  voyages  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  came 


DIEPPE — THE  CLIFF  AND  CASTLE. 


85 


back  laden  with  the  furs  of  Canada  and  the  spices  of 
Senegal.  It  had  its  merchant  prince,  who,  like  the  lords 
of  Venice,  sent  whole  fleets  to  sea,  in  the  person  of 
Ango,  the  friend  of  Francis  I.,  whose  chateau  is  still 
seen  near  the  town.  But  the  rise  of  Havre,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Seine,  led  to  the  decline  of  Dieppe ; till 
now  it  has  not  more  than  twenty  thousand  inhabitants. 
Still  it  is  an  important  fishing  port,  and  every  year  sends 
out  a hundred  or  more  of  vessels  for  the  cod  and  her- 
ring fisheries.  Many  are  the  hardy  Norman  sailors, 
who  drop  the  line  on  the  banks  of  Newfoundland.  But 
its  more  imposing  commerce  has  departed.  The  only 
trace  it  has  left  is  seen  in  the  small  manufacture  of  ob- 
jects of  ivory — a relic  of  its  former  trade  with  Africa — 
which  are  still  offered  to  the  visitor  in  the  little  shops 
along  the  beach. 

But  Dieppe  has  more  stirring  associations.  Look  up 
to  the  castle  on  the  cliff.  Two  centuries  and  a half  ago 
there  was  a stir  on  yonder  heights,  a hurrying  of  feet 
and  tramp  of  armed  men.  Thither  came  the  great 
Henry,  when,  forced  to  retreat  before  the  army  of  the 
League,  and  almost  driven  out  of  the  kingdom,  he 
threw  himself  upon  the  fidelity  of  his  “ bons  Dieppois.” 
Left  with  only  a little  band  of  Huguenots  to  defend 
his  person  and  his  crown,  he  yet  rode  at  their  head 
wTith  an  unruffled  brow,  as  serene  and  undaunted  in 
defeat  as  in  victory.  Here  he  made  his  stand,  and  at 
the  old  castle  of  Arques,  in  a narrow  valley  four  miles 


86 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


from  the  town,  with  but  four  thousand  trusty  Protestants, 
he  defeated  the  whole  army  that  had  marched  against 
him,  thirty  thousand  strong — a decisive  battle,  which 
made  Henry  of  Navarre,  King  Henry  IY.  of  France. 

Still  later,  in  the  war  of  the  Fronde,  fled  to  this 
castle  the  Duchess  de  Longueville,  so  famous  for  her 
beauty  and  her  ambition.  Fearing  that  she  could  not 
find  safety  in  France,  she  took  refuge  in  this  old  tower  on 
the  coast,  from  whose  jutting  precipice,  if  need  were, 
she  could,  like  a dauntless  Roman  matron,  throw  herself 
into  the  sea.  To  this  eyrie  she  was  pursued,  and  she 
clambered  down  the  rocks  by  night,  trusting  herself  to 
the  darkness  and  the  stormy  coast,  rather  than  fall  into 
the  power  of  her  enemies.  After  a succession  of  perils 
and  marvellous  escapes,  she  at  length  found  safety  in 
Holland. 

These  are  brave  memories  which  float  around  yonder 
towers.  But  now  gentler  forms  come  stepping  over 
the  sands  as  we  walk  here  at  sunset.  At  the  foot  of 
the  giant  cliff  a soft  and  shelly  beach  reaches  out  into 
the  sea,  which  is  one  of  the  most  famous  resorts  for 
bathers  on  all  the  coasts  of  France.  As  we  look  off 
pensively  at  the  deep,  gentle  forms  come  stealing  out  of 
the  twilight,  forms  tenderly  beloved  in  other  years. 
Those  who  then  disported  in  the  surf  are  gone  now,  and 
the  waters  have  washed  away  their  footsteps.  But 
others  follow,  as  gay  and  gladsome  as  they.  To  us  this 
whole  scene  presents  a contrast  which  illustrates  the 


NORMANDY. 


87 


two  extremes  of  the  French  spirit — emblems  of  glory  and 
war,  frowning  over  the  spot  where  children  and  maid- 
ens trip  with  merry  feet.  It  is  a true  picture  of  France 
— that  grand  old  castle  standing,  dark  and  solemn, 
against  the  evening  sky,  while  a group  of  bathers  go 
leaping  and  laughing  on  the  sands  below. 

The  next  day  we  came  on  front  Dieppe  to  Rouen, 
through  the  heart  of  this  ancient  province,  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  portions  of  old  France.  The  scenery 
along  the  route  is  not  grand,  but  it  is  exquisitely  beau- 
tiful. The  road  winds  through  valleys  of  the  softest 
green,  along  the  banks  of  streams  that  murmur  gently 
beneath  their  overhanging  willows.  The  hill-sides  are 
covered  not  with  vines,  but  writh  orchards,  for  Nor- 
mandy is  a part  of  France,  in  which  the  national 
beverage  of  wine  gives  place  to  homely  cider.  These 
orchards  give  the  country  an  appearance  not  unlike  that 
of  New  England.  I can  hardly  picture  to  your  eye  the 
softness  of  these  landscapes  as  they  glided  past.  To  us 
they  had  a charm  beyond  their  natural  beauty,  in  tender 
memories  that  sprung  like  grass  from  the  green  turf 
beneath  our  feet.  Mrs.  F.  spent  a part  of  her  childhood 
in  Normandy,  and  now  associations  of  early  years  rose 
up  from  these  valleys,  like  morning  dews  exhaled  upon 
the  balmy  air.  But  I cannot  convey  to  another  all  the 
brightness  of  that  day.  Its  sunshine  is  lingering  in  my 
memory  yet. 


88 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Rouen  detained  us  five  or  six  hours.  It  is  a quaint 
and  curious  old  city,  with  its  narrow,  winding  streets, 
and  high,  gabled  houses;  but  a place  of  unusual  historical 
interest.  It  was  the  ancient  capital  of  Normandy.  In 
the  Palace  of  Justice  is  still  shown  the  chamber  in  which 
the  Parliament  met.  Here  lived  William  the  Con- 
queror, and  after  he  had  planted  his  Normans  on  the 
coast  of  England,  Here  he  came  back  to  die.  In  the 
Museum  of  Antiquities  is  still  preserved  a letter  signed 
by  his  royal  hand,  or  rather  marked  by  his  cross,  for  the 
Conqueror  of  England  could  not  write  his  name ! Here, 
too,  was  the  home  of  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion,  who  at  ^iis 
death  bequeathed  to  Rouen  his  lion  heart,  which  is  still 
kept  as  a sacred  relic  in  the  cathedral. 

But  it  is  not  of  William  nor  of  Richard  that  we  think 
most  as  we  drive  over  these  pavements,  but  of  the  maid 
of  Orleans,  Joan  of  Arc,  who,  after  leading  the  armies  ot 
her  country,  here  came  to  the  end  of  her  career.  More 
than  four  centuries  have  passed  since  the  victorious  Eng- 
lish kindled  the  fires  for  the  captured  girl  in  one  of  the 
squares  of  Rouen ; and  still  the  city  derives  its  chief  his- 
torical interest  from  the  tragic  fate  of  the  heroic  maid,  and 
still  every  stranger  comes  as  a pilgrim  to  her  monument. 

Rouen  is  rich  in  churches.  The  cathedral  is  one  of 
the  grandest  piles  of  the  middle  ages.  Especially  is 
every  beholder  struck  with  admiration  of  its  fa§ade,  so 
broad  and  high,  and  carved  with  the  richest  tracery. 
But  still  more  beautiful  to  me  was  the  church  of  St. 


KOUE^ — PARIS. 


89 


Ouen,  so  named  from  the  patron  saint  of  the  city. 
Though  not  so  large  as  many  of  the  continental  cathe- 
drals, it  is  one  of  the  most  perfect  specimens  of  Gothic 
architecture  in  Europe.  Notwithstanding  its  great  size, 
the  impression  on  the  beholder  is  one  of  airy  lightness 
and  grace.  The  long  nave  is  lined  by  slender  columns 
which  rise  to  a great  height,  and  from  Tvhich  the  arches 
spring  upward,  like  elm  branches,  so  that  it  seems  as  if  the 
vaulted  roof  would  soar  to  the  skies.  We  spent  a long 
time  in  wandering  about  this  beautiful  edifice,  not  only 
straying  through  the  long-drawn  aisles,  and  musing  over 
old  tombs  and  monuments,  but  ascending  to  the  galleries 
and  the  roof.  A hundred  feet  above  the  pavement,  the 
thick  w^alls  are  pierced  by  a narrow  corridor,  through 
wrhich  one  may  pass  around  the  whole  edifice.  Here 
came  the  monks  from  a neighboring  convent,  and  stood 
in  their  black  robes,  looking  down  upon  the  worshippers 
below,  and  listening  to  the  solemn  chanting  as  it  floated 
upward.  Here  we  now  stood  and  looked  down  to  the 
stone  pavement,  on  which  men  showed  like  pigmies  as 
they  "walked  about.  From  the  galleries  we  passed  out 
upon  the  roof,  and  ascended  the  tower,  from  which  we 
overlooked  the  squares  and  gardens  of  the  city,  and  the 
hills,  and  the  Seine  which  far  below  "was  winding  its  wray 
to  the  sea. 

The  same  evening  we  came  on  to  Paris,  keeping  the 
course  of  the  river.  The  valley  of  the  Seine  presents 
many  beautiful  points,  several  of  which  I recognized  as 
those  from  which  Turner  had  taken  the  most  charming 


90 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


landscapes  in  his  Rivers  of  France.  Every  step  was 
over  historic  ground.  Ruined  castles,  here  and  there 
crowning  a distant  hill-top,  were  hoary  with  legends  of 
the  past.  Yonder  lofty  rock,  to  which  the  river  bends 
as  if  to  pay  it  tribute,  was  the  stronghold  of  Richard 
Cceur  de  Lion.  There  he  built  the  Chateau  Gaillard, 
and  from  that  eminence  he  surveyed  with  the  eye  of  a 
conqueror  the  broad  valley  of  the  Seine.  After  his 
death  this  impregnable  fortress  was  taken.  But  while 
he  lived  none  dared  to  disturb  the  lion  in  his  lair. 

Farther  on  we  see  a mansion  standing  modestly  in  the 
valley,  whose  plain  brick  walls  now  reflect  the  setting 
sun.  That  is  the  Chateau  of  Rosny,  where  the  great 
minister  Sully  was  born,  and  where  he  was  often  visited 
by  his  royal  master  Henry  IY.  You  have  read  the 
stirring  poem  of  Macaulay  on  the  battle  of  Ivry.  It 
may  therefore  interest  you  to  know  that  King  Henry  of 
Navarre  slept  under  that  roof  on  the  night  after  that 
glorious  day.  Thus  recalling  the  scenes  and  characters 
of  history,  we  rode  on  past  other  chateaus  and  villages, 
and  through  the  forest  of  St.  Germain,  till  at  a late 
hour  we  entered  the  walls  of  Paris.  It  was  near  mid- 
night when  we  left  the  station.  But  the  streets  were 
brilliantly  lighted,  crowds  were  walking  on  the  Boule- 
vards, and  everything  marked  the  gay  French  capital. 
Our  carriage  soon  whirled  us  into  the  magnificent  Rue 
de  Rivoli,  and  under  the  arched  way  into  the  courtyard 
of  the  great  Hotel  du  Louvre. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


Changes  of  Ten  Years  in  the  French  Capital — The  Republic 
% 

DESTROYED LOUIS  NAPOLEON IMPROVEMENTS  IN  THE  ClTY NEW 

Buildings,  New  Squares  and  New  Streets — Enlargement  of 
the  City  Walls  — Military  Regime — The  Imperial  Guard — 
Zouaves  and  Chasseurs — Chances  of  Revolution — Feeling  of 
the  Nation  towards  the  Emperor — Will  the  Empire  Last? 

Paris,  July  8,  1858. 

W e have  now  been  two  weeks  in  Paris,  but  every 
day  has  been  so  occupied  with  seeing  sights  and  seeing 
friends,  that  we  have  not  found  an  hour  to  write  to 
America.  It  was  not  with  the  feeling  of  strangers,  but 
rather  of  exiles  returning  to  their  country,  that  we 
entered  Paris  again,  after  an  absence  of  ten  years.  You 
know  that  it  was  Mrs.  F.’s  native  city,  and  that  here  she 
spent  all  her  early  life.  You  know,  too,  that  I also 
passed  here  the  winter  of  1847-8,  and  was  a witness  of 
the  Revolution  in  which  Louis  Philippe  was  overthrown. 
So  to  both  of  us  these  streets  were  full  of  the  associa- 
tions of  other  days.  But  we  find  the  French  capital 
much  changed  both  politically  and  externally.  When  I 
left,  the  republic  had  been  established  on  the  ruins  of  the 
monarchy;  Cavaignac  was  at  the  head  of  affairs,  and 

91 


92 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  National  Assembly  was  engaged  in  consolidating 
democratic  institutions.  Now  every  trace  of  the  repub- 
lic has  disappeared  ; the  old  statesmen  and  generals  are 
dead  or  in  exile.  A few,  like  Guizot  and  Thiers,  are 
permitted  to  remain  in  Paris,  but  they  are  wholly  desti- 
tute of  power  and  political  influence.  They  live  very 
retired  and  devote  themselves  to  literary  pursuits.  And 
one  man  who  was  then  known  only  as  a Quixotic  adven- 
turer, is  now  the  sole  and  absolute  master  of  France. 

Whatever  might  be  the  previous  opinions  of  Louis 
Napoleon,  all  must  now  concede  his  great  ability.  He 
has  grasped  the  reins  of  power  with  a strong  hand,  and 
has  infused  energy  and  vigor  into  every  department  of 
the  government.  Immense  labor  and  expense  have 
been  devoted  to  the  embellishment  of  the  capital.  The 
whole  city  seems  to  be  in  a process  of  reconstruction. 
I see  here  more  opening  of  new  streets,  more  tearing 
down  of  old  houses,  and  more  building  of  new  ones, 
than  in  New  York.  The  old  parts  of  Paris,  where  the 
streets  were  the  narrowest,  and  the  houses  the  highest, 
and  the  population  the  densest  and  the  poorest,  have 
been  pierced  by  long  and  broad  avenues.  The  new 
Boulevard  of  Sebastopol  has  been  cut  right  through  the 
heart  of  Paris,  connecting  the  opposite  banks  of  the 
Seine,  and  the  northern  and  southern  divisions  of  the 
city.  Whole  blocks  of  decayed  rookeries,  which  had 
been  the  refuge  of  squalid  misery  for  generations,  have 
been  swept  away,  and  given  place  to  open  squares,  with 


IMPROVEMENTS  IN  THE  CITY. 


93 


gardens,  and  trees,  and  fountains.  The  great  work 
of  connecting  the  Palace  of  the  Tuileries  with  the 
Louvre,  which  several  sovereigns  have  attempted, 
has  at  last  been  completed,  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  the 
magnificent  street  of  arcades,  which  before  skirted  the 
garden  of  the  Tuileries,  has  now  been  extended  through 
the  whole  length  of  Paris.  One  of  the  blocks  which 
was  removed  in  these  changes  is  now  occupied  by  our 
hotel,  the  Grand  Hotel  du  Louvre,  which  almost  merits 
a description  by  itself,  as  one  of  the  public  edifices  of 
Paris.  It  is  probably  the  finest  hotel  in  Europe.  It 
occupies  a whole  square,  facing  the  New  Louvre  on  one 
side,  and  the  Palais  Royal  on  the  other.  Our  room  looks 
out  upon  the  Rue  de  Rivoli ; the  Louvre  is  just  across 
the  street,  and  the  Tuileries  but  a few  rods  distant. 
We  step  out  of  our  windows  on  the  balcony,  and  our 
view  reaches  eastward  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  beyond 
to  the  column  which  marks  the  place  of  the  Bastille,  and 
westward  over  the  trees  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  to 
where  the  setting  sun  lights  up  the  Arch  of  Triumph. 
Still  beyond  lies  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  the  favorite 
drive  of  the  Parisians,  which  has  been  laid  out  anew  and 
greatly  embellished,  to  which  thousands  are  pouring  out 
at  this  hour  to  enjoy  a walk  or  ride  amid  lawns,  and 
lakes,  and  woods. 

Another  improvement  is  projected,  which  will  give 
the  city  still  grander  proportions.  It  is  the  enlargement 
of  the  walls  to  nearly  double  their  present  circumfer- 


94 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ence.  Like  most  continental  cities,  Paris  levies  an 
octroi , or  city  duty,  on  all  provisions  brought  in  from 
the  country.  This  tariff  yields  a revenue  of  many  mil- 
lions, out  of  which  are  paid,  in  large  part,  the  new 
improvements.  To  prevent  any  contraband  traffic,  the 
city  is  surrounded  with  an  octroi  wall,  and  officers  keep 
watch  on  every  vehicle,  whether  cart  or  carriage,  that 
enters  in  at  the  gates.  This  duty  is  of  course  a heavy 
tax  upon  living  in  Paris,  to  escape  which  many  of  the 
poorer  classes  have  moved  without  the  walls,  where  pro- 
visions are  cheaper.  The  reconstructions  now  going  on, 
in  which  their  old  quarters  have  been  torn  down,  have 
driven  thousands  of  poor  families  into  these  suburbs, 
and  thus  has  grown  up  outside  of  the  city  proper  a 
population  numbering,  it  is  said,  nearly  four  hundred  « 
thousand. 

• Beyond  this  octroi  wall,  at  a distance  of  from  half 
a mile  to  a mile  and  even  two  miles,  is  the  line  of  the 
city  fortifications,  constructed  by  Louis  Philippe,  at 
enormous  expense,  with  broad  walls  and  a deep  moat. 

It  is  in  the  girdle  between  these  walls  that  is  collected 
this  vast  surbrtrban  population.  It  is  now  proposed  to 
throw  down  the  octroi  wall,  and  extend  the  city  to  the 
line  of  the  fortifications.  Of  course  the  project  raises  a 
great  outcry  among  the  poor,  who  would  find  themselves 
at  once  subjected  to  pay  city  prices  for  their  food.  But 
it  is  said  that  this  will  be  compensated  in  part  by  a 
diminution  of  other  taxes.  The  main  argument  for  the 


MILITARY  REGIME. 


05 


change  is,  that  this  region  without  the  wTalls,  the  ban- 
lieue,  as  it  is  called,  has  become  the  resort  of  all  the 
most  desperate  characters  of  Paris,  and  that  to  keep  them 
in  check,  it  is  necessary  to  bring  them  under  municipal 
regulations,  and  the  strict  watch  of  the  city  police. 

But  whatever  the  motive,  the  effect  will  be  to  give  to 
Paris  majestic  proportions.  At  one  stroke  it  will  nearly 
double  the  area  within  the  walls,  giving  the  city  a dia- 
meter of  from  seven  to  nine  miles,  and  increasing  the 
population  frum  twelve  to  sixteen  hundred  thousand 
souls ! Those  who  have  projected  this  vast  expansion 
of  the  capital,  have  laid  out  the  new  plan  of  Paris  on  a 
scale  of  magnificence  well  fitted  to  dazzle  the  Imperial 
imagination.  Thus  the  city  is  to  have  one  hundred 
gates,  the  number  of  portals  to  ancient  Thebes,  and  the 
design  would  seem  to  be  to  recall  the  grandeur  of  ancient 
Babylon  or  of  imperial  Rome. 

These  changes  are  fast  making  Paris  the  most  splen- 
did capital  in  Europe.  And  yet  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
they  have  been  made  with  an  eye  to  something  more 
than  beauty.  They  are  designed  also  for  a military  pur* 
pose.  Almost  every  new  square  has  a huge  barrack 
frowning  over  it.  Every  public  edifice  has  a wide  space 
cleared  around  it,  so  that  it  could  be  occupied  by  troops, 
and  the  people  could  have  no  means  of  approach,  and  no 
shelter  in  case  of  attack.  Thus  the  Hotel  de  Yille,  the 
seat  of  the  municipal  government  of  Paris,  which  in 
every  revolution  is  the  great  centre  to  be  gained,  has 


96 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


been  completely  isolated  from  other  buildings,  while  in 
front,  the  opposite  side  of  the  Place  de  Greve  is  occu- 
pied by  edifices  devoted  to  offices  of  State,  and  in  the 
rear  has  just  been  erected  a line  of  barracks,  and  both 
these  ranges  of  buildings  communicate  with  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  by  subterranean  passages,  so  that  the  whole 
could  be  turned  into  a vast  fortress  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  city.  The  thick  and  populous  quarters,  which  have 
been  the  hotbeds  of  conspiracy  and  insurrection,  are 
now  intersected  by  great  avenues  which  could  easily  be 
swept  by  artillery ; and  they  are  so  separated  from  each 
other,  that,  in  case  of  an  emeute,  any  faubourg  or 
infected  district  could  be  surrounded  with  troops  and 
girdled  with  fire.  The  main  streets,  too,  have  been 
Macadamized,  and  the  large  paving  stones  which  made 
such  formidable  barricades,  have  been  taken  away  from 
the  reach  of  future  insurgents. 

All  this  is  admirably  planned  and  shows  the  emperor 
to  be  a thorough  master  of  strategy.  It  would  seem  to 
render  another  revolution  impossible.  To  guard  against 
any  attempt,  troops  are  always  at  hand.  The  streets  of 
Paris  wear  a military  aspect  almost  as  much  as  if  the 
city  were  in  a state  of  siege.  Every  morning  we  hear 
the  roll  of  drums  and  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  coming 
up  to  our  windows,  and  from  the  balcony  we  look  down 
on  a forest  of  bayonets,  as  some  regiment  is  marched 
from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other.  Drills  and  parades 
are  of  daily  occurrence.  If  you  choose  to  ride  out  to 


THE  IMPERIAL  GUARD,  ZOUAVES  AND  CHASSEURS.  97 

Vincennes,  you  may  witness  twice  a week  the  artillery 
practice.  And  every  few  weeks  there  is  a grand 
review  in  the  Champ  de  Mars.  This  military  array 
shows  on  what  the  ruler  of  France  relies  for  the  main- 
tenance of  his  power.  Certainly,  with  a garrison  of 
80,000  men,  which  could  easily  be  concentrated  in  Paris, 
any  unorganized,  tumultuous  insurrection  would  stand 
but  a small  chance  of  success. 

But  there  is  always  another  possibility — if  not  of  a 
popular  revolution,  of  a military  one.  As  the  Roman 
legions  crowned  and  uncrowned  emperors,  so  Napo- 
leon III.  could  not  maintain  himself  for  a day,  if  the 
army  were  to  become  disaffected.  Such  a revolt  is  not 
very  probable.  For  he  takes  the  greatest  pains  to  win 
the  attachment  of  his  soldiers.  And  yet  military  men 
think  he  has  made  one  grand  mistake,  in  reviving  the 
Imperial  Guard,  formed  by  his  uncle.  This  is  composed 
of  twenty-five  thousand  picked  men,  the  elite  of  the 
cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery.  These  are  the  favorite 
regiments.'  They  receive  higher  pay  than  the  main 
body  of  the  army,  and  are  assigned  to  the  most  favored 
duty,  being  kept  in  Paris,  and  about  the  Palace.  The 
pet  corps  are  the  Zouaves  and  the  Chasseurs.  I never 
go  to  the  Palais  Royal  without  remarking  the  fine- 
looking  Chasseurs  who  are  on  guard  about  the  present 
residence  of  the  Prince  Jerome.  And  every  morning,  I 
see  the  Zouaves  drawn  up  in  the  court  of  the  Louvre, 
looking,  in  their  red  turbans  and  broad  Turkish  trowsers, 

5 


98 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


like  so  many  wild  Arabs  that  have  just  come  out  of  the 
desert.  These  are  among  the  finest  soldiers  in  the 
world.  Their  bravery  has  been  attested  in  many  a hard- 
fought  conflict  among  the  mountains  of  Algeria,  or 
under  the  walls  of  Sebastopol.  I never  pass  them  with- 
out stopping  to  look  with  admiration  on  the  gallant  fel- 
lows who  dashed  with  such  fury  on  the  batteries  of  the 
Malakolf. 

Of  course  these  faithful  dogs  of  war  become  attached 
to  the  hand  that  caresses  them.  But  this  marked  favor 
to  them  offends  other  divisions  of  the  army,  which  deem 
themselves  neglected.  I am  told  that  this  Imperial 
Guard  has  given  very  great  offence  to  the  regular  troops 
of  the  line,  and  this  becomes  a serious  matter  when  the 
affront  is  offered  to  half  a million  of  armed  men  ! So 
violent  was  the  jealousy  which  it  occasioned  in  the  late 
war,  that  the  different  corps  could  hardly  be  restrained 
from  attacking  each  other.  To  calm  the  rising  storm, 
Pelissier  had  to  push  forward  the  Zouaves  and  the 
Chasseurs  in  every  perilous  attack  during  the  siege  of 
Sebastopol,  thus  showing  that  if  they  enjoyed  special 
honors,  they  must  pay  for  them  by  special  dangers.  So 
frequent  and  so  great  were  their  exposures  that  one  third 
of  their  whole  number  was  killed.  By  this  murderous 
sacrifice,  he  allayed  the  general  irritation.  Thus  the 
excitement  was  quelled  for  the  time,  but  where  such  a 
magazine  exists,  the  slightest  spark  may  produce  an 
explosion. 


CHANCES  OF  REVOLUTION. 


09 


A gentleman  who  had  lately  been  in  Algeria,  com- 
municated to  me  another  fact,  which  seemed  to  me  very 
menacing — that  there  existed  throughout  that  colony 
a very  general  disaffection  towards  the  government. 
He  was  surprised  at  the  freedom  with  which  not  only 
civilians,  but  officers  in  the  army,  expressed  their  convic- 
tion that  the  present  state  of  things  in  Paris  could  not 
last  long.  The  old  African  soldiers  are  warmly  attached 
to  the  family  of  Orleans,  and  would  gladly  exchange  the 
present  emperor  for  a son  or  grandson  of  Louis  Philippe. 
These  facts  show  that  a defection  in  the  army  is  by  no 
means  impossible. 

A popular  insurrection  in  Paris,  as  I have  said,  would 
stand  no  chance  at  all  against  the  troops,  if  they  stood 
firm,  and  were  resolute  to  put  it  down.  But  in  the  case 
of  a people  so  impulsive  as  the  French,  it  is  impossible  to 
calculate  the  effect  of  a sudden  frenzy  of  the  public  mind, 
such  as  might  be  provoked  by  an  extreme  act  of 
tyranny,  the  imprisonment  of  a popular  favorite,  or  in 
case  of  foreign  war,  by  the  loss  of  a battle  which  should 
be  ascribed  to  the  incapacity  or  mismanagement  of  the 
government.  Any  one  of  these  might  cause  such  an 
explosion  of  popular  indignation  as  nothing  could  with- 
stand. 

A manifestation  of  the  national  will,  so  imposing, 
might  paralyze  the  best  troops  in  the  world,  even  if  they 
were  not  demoralized  before.  The  people  might  rush  to 
arms,  and  the  soldiers — not  cowed,  but  awe-struck,  might 


100 


SUMMER  TICTURES. 


hesitate  to  fire  upon  their  own  countrymen,  and  finally, 
as  in  1848,  end  by  going  over  to  their  side.  In  that 
case  this  whole  magnificent  array  of  defences  might  be 
turned  against  the  hand  that  erected  them.  I mention 
these  contingencies,  not  as  being  very  likely  to  happen, 
but  as  by  no  means  impossible.  I have  seen  one  revolu- 
tion in  Paris,  which  came  so  suddenly  and  with  so  little 
apparent  cause,  that  it  has  greatly  shaken  my  con- 
fidence in  the  stability  .of  any  government  in  France. 

But  you  will  ask,  how  do  the  people  like  this  iron 
rule  ? Most  foreigners  can  give  you  no  intelligent 
answer  to  this  question,  for  the  press  is  muzzled,  and 
Frenchmen  do  not  open  their  minds  to  strangers.  They 
do  not  speak  on  politics  except  in  private  and  behind 
closed  doors.  But  we  are  not  foreigners  in  Paris.  A 
large  acquaintance  makes  us  at  home  in  many  French 
families,  and  to  us  they  express  their  opinions  more 
freely.  And  yet,  after  hearing  all,  we  are  not  in  a much 
better  position  to  form  a judgment  than  those  who  hear 
none ; for  the  opinions  expressed  are  totally  contradic- 
tory. We  find  that  every  man  approves  or  condemns 
the  imperial  rule,  just  as  it  happens  to  affect  his  private 
interest,  or  to  cross  his  old  prejudices.  The  Legitimists 
of  course  think  there  will  be  no  settled  order  in  France 
until  the  Bourbons  are  again  seated  on  the  throne ; and 
the  Republicans  think  that  there  can  be  no  liberty 
until  kings  and  emperors  alike  are  sent  about  their  busi- 
ness. But  interest  is  even  stronger  than  prejudice. 


WILL  THE  EMPIRE  LAST? 


101 


If  an  artist  finds  his  profession  does  not  flourish,  he 
thinks  it  is  owing  to  a want  of  patronage  by  the  court, 
and  this  of  course  dictated  by  jealousy  of  his  genius. 
If  a tradesman  finds  his  branch  of  business  suffering,  he 
curses  the  government.  On  the  other  hand,  those  who 
are  prosperous  bless  the  strong  hand,  which  has  at  last 
given  to  France  that  order  which  is  the  first  condition 
of  successful  industry.  A prosperous  merchant  tells  us : 
“ Napoleon  is  my  man.  We  have  made  more  progress 
under  him  in  ten  years  than  in  fifty  years  before.” 
Another  who  is  an  employe  in  a public  administration, 
and  who  feels  that  his  bread  depends  on  the  stability  of 
the  government,  says,  “ I would  descend  into  the  street 
to-morrow  to  fight  for  him.”  Another,  wrho  is  an  artist, 
and  a man  of  letters,  cannot  bear  to  hear  the  name  of 
the  Emperor  mentioned,  and  speaks  cf  him  wdth  the 
utmost  contempt,  always  calling  him  “this  parvenu — 
this  fellow  whom  we  have  got  at  the  head  of  affairs!” 
An  American  gentleman  here,  the  other  day  went  to  his 
banker,  who  was  probably  a legitimist  and  regretted  the 
old  regime,  and  while  there,  playfully  asked  him  how  he 
liked  the  master  of  France  ? The  old  Frenchman’s  eyes 
flashed  fire,  and  he  fairly  trembled  -with  rage  as  he 
hissed  through  his  teeth,  “ They  will  kill  him  !” 

From  these  contrary  opinions  you  may  judge  how 
difficult  it  is  to  form  anything  like  a fair  estimate  of  the 
public  opinion  of  France.  In  fact  there  is  no  publio 
opinion  in  France.  There  are  millions  of  private 


102 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


opinions,  but  where  there  is  not  free  speech  and  a free 
press,  as  in  England  and  America,  public  opinion  cannot 
exist.  The  only  verdict  which,  the  nation  has  ever 
given  is  recorded  in  its  vote.  And  here  the  fact  stands 
before  the  world,  that  three  times  has  the  nation  by  an 
immense  majority  elevated  this  man  to  the  supreme 
power. 

From  all  this  you  may  conclude  that  nothing  is  cer- 
tain in  France  but  uncertainty.  And  such  is  the  general 
feeling  of  the*most  intelligent  and  thoughtful  observers 
of  affairs.  Ask  a Frenchman  what  he  thinks  of  the 
political  prospects  of  his  country,  and  the  answer  is  gen- 
erally a significant  shrug,  and  a confession  that  nothing 
is  certain  for  a month  to  come.  And  yet  there  is  a gen- 
eral impression  that  there  will  be  no  change  during  the 
life  of  the  present  ruler  of  France.  Such  is  the  prestige 
which  he  has  obtained  for  talent  and  energy,  such  is  the 
popularity  of  his  name,  such  the  attachment  of  the  army, 
and  such  the  dread  among  all  classes  of  the  terrible  pos- 
sibilities of  another  revolution , that  I think  the  vast 
majority  of  the  nation  would  prefer  to  rest  secure  under 
his  strong  hand,  rather  than  plunge  into  any  unknown 
future. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


The  American  Chapel  in  Paris. 

Paris,  July  10,  1858. 

One  of  the  most  pleasant  things  which  has  come  under 
our  observation  in  Paris,  is  the  new  American  chapel,  re- 
cently erected  here,  by  the  generous  contributions  of  a 
few  residents  in  this  city,  aided  by  the  liberality  of  friends 
at  home,  chiefly,  I believe,  in  New  York,  and  Boston, 
and  Philadelphia.  The  want  of  such  a place  of  worship 
in  the  French  capital,  had  long  been  felt.  There  were 
several  English  churches  and  chapels,  besides  that  attached 
to  the  Embassy.  Yet  there  has  not  been  a single  place 
of  worship  wThich  could  serve  as  a place  of  Christian 
reunion  for  our  countrymen,  though  thousands  of  Ameri- 
cans visit  Paris  every  year.  But  there  were  many  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  its  establishment.  Of  the  swarms  of 
our  countrymen  who  annually  flock  to  Paris,  the  vast  ma- 
jority are  merely  travellers,  who  only  take  this  city  in  their 
way  to  Switzerland  or  Italy.  They  stay  but  a few  days, 
lodging  in  hotels,  not  long  enough  to  form  any  acquaint- 
ance, or  to  seek  out  a Protestant  place  of  worship.  Occa- 
sionally families  come  to  spend  a winter.  But  of  these  a 
large  part  are  in  search  merely  of  pleasure  and  amuse- 

102 


104 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ment,  and  are  much  more  disposed  to  fall  into  the  ways 
of  the  gay  people  among  whom  they  are,  than  to  remem- 
ber the  God  of  their  fathers,  and  to  meet  devoutly  for 
His  worship.  The  only  nucleus  of  a congregation  must 
be  found  in  the  Americans  who  have  been  brought  to 
Paris  by  business,  wrhich  keeps  them  here  for  a few  years, 
and  who  may  thus  be  considered  as  more  permanent 
residents.  But  of  these  probably  one  half  feel  no  in- 
terest in  any  such  service.  Still,  there  is  a little  remnant 
who  are  religiously  disposed,  and  who  would  be  glad  on 
the  Sabbath  to  join  in  worship  in  their  own  tongue  in 
which  they  were  born.  But  here  again  is  a difficulty. 
These  few  religious  families  belong  to  different  commu- 
nions, and  each  prefers  its  own  order  and  mode  of 
worship. 

All  these  causes  together  rendered  the  prospect  most 
discouraging,  and  for  a time  it  seemed  that  the  project, 
however  desirable  in  itself,  was  hopeless  of  accomplish- 
ment. Thus  it  would  have  remained  in  suspense  or  un 
attempted,  but  for  the  wise  sagacity  of  the  American 
and  Foreign  Christian  Union,  which  had  long  looked 
upon  Paris  as  its  most  important  field  in  all  Europe. 
By  its  earnest  solicitation,  Rev.  Dr.  Kirk,  of  Boston, 
was  prevailed  upon  to  leave  his  church  for  a few  months, 
to  come  out  to  Paris,  to  organize  a congregation  and 
commence  the  erection  of  a church.  Thus  supported  at 
home,  a few  American  residents  here  took  courage  to 
begin  the  work. 


THE  AMERICAN  CHAPEL  IN  PARIS. 


105 


This  little  band  was  composed  of  members  of  several 
different  communions,  but  their  earnest  spirit  led  them  to 
yield  in  some  degree  their  individual  preferences  for  the 
sake  of  the  important  result  to  be  secured.  These  united 
with  the  understanding,  that  the  service  should  be 
partly  Episcopal,  and  partly  of  that  more  simple  form 
which  is  common  in  other  Protestant  churches.  They 
designed  to  lay  down  a platform  broad  enough  for  all 
evangelical  Christians  to  stand  upon  ; and  to  establish  a 
church  in  which  not  only  Episcopalians  and  Presby- 
terians, but  Congregationalists,  and  Methodists,  and 
Baptists,  and  Lutherans,  and  the  Reformed  Dutch, 
should  feel  equally  at  home.  The  ministers  of  all  were 
to  be  admitted  to  the  pulpit,  and  the  members  of  all  wel- 
comed to  the  communion.  On  this  broad  and  truly  Catho- 
lic basis,  subscriptions  were  raised  to  erect  a chapel.  The 
Americans  in  Paris  gave  most  liberally,  and  their  efforts 
were  nobly  responded  to  by  friends  in  New  York.  The 
Foreign  Christian  Union  advanced  twenty  thousand  dol- 
lars towards  the  enterprise,  and  so  the  work  was  begun. 
The  labors  of  Dr.  Kirk  were  most  useful ; but  after  a few 
months  he  was  obliged  to  return  to  his  very  important 
charge  in  Boston,  and  the  Society  remained  without  a 
pastor,  until  in  February,  Rev.  Mr.  Seeley,  late  of  Spring- 
field,  Mass.,  who  had  been  appointed  his  successor,  ar- 
rived to  recommence  the  work.  The  chapel  was  still 
unfinished.  But  it  was  now  pushed  forward  rapidly,  and 
in  May  the  congregation  had  the  great  happiness  of  dedi- 

5* 


106 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


eating  it  to  the  worship  of  God,  in  the  presence  of  the 
American  Minister,  and  a large  assembly  of  his  country- 
men. On  this  occasion  the  pastor  preached  an  appro- 
priate discourse  on  the  subject  of  Christian  Unity,  and 
thus  auspiciously  was  inaugurated  this  most  important 
enterprise. 

The  chapel  is  situated  in  the  Rue  de  Berri,  near  the 
Champs  Elysees.  The  position  is  a good  one,  being  near 
to  the  American  embassy,  and  in  the  quarter  of  Paris 
preferred  by  our  countrymen.  The  building  is  of  stone, 
as  by  law  it  could  not  be  erected  of  different  materials. 
It  is  plain  in  its  exterior,  though  very  substantially  built. 
The  interior  would,  perhaps,  seem  a little  too  naked 
were  it  not  for  the  ladies,  who  have  united  to  cushion  the 
pews,  and  who  have  thus  given  a little  more  comfort  to 
the  seats,  as  well  as  taste  to  the  general  appearance.  One 
individual,  also,  has  given  an  organ,  and  another  a com- 
munion service.  This  is  apart  from  their  subscriptions 
to  erect  the  edifice. 

But  that  which  pleased  me  most  was  the  aspect  of  the 
congregation,  which  was  reverent  and  devout.  Since  the 
chapel  was  finished  the  attendance  has  been  quite  full, 
and  the  congregation  is  composed  of  the  very  best  class 
of  American  residents  in  Paris.  It  was  my  privilege  to 
be  with  them  two  Sabbaths,  and  I felt  it  a great  happi- 
ness, thus  far  from  home,  to  join  in  the  same  prayers  and 
hymns,  and  to  listen  to  the  same  sacred  words,  which  I 
had  so  often  heard  in  my  own  happy,  Christian  land. 


THE  AMERICAN  CHAPEL  IN  PARIS. 


107 


The  service  was  partly  Episcopal  in  its  form.  To  this, 
some  of  our  sturdy  Presbyterian  and  Congregational 
brethren  in  America  might  object.  But  such  should  re- 
member that  the  majority  of  the  congregation  are  Epis- 
copalians ; that  a very  large  part  of  the  money  to  build 
the  chapel  was  given  by  them  ; and  that  the  officers  of 
the  church  are  all  of  the  same  communion,  ex  necessitate , 
since  in  the  whole  congregation  there  is  not  a single 
Presbyterian  elder  nor  a Congregational  deacon ! Surely 
it  is  but  just  that  a proper  respect  should  be  paid  to  the 
preferences  of  these  excellent  brethren.  Indeed,  I am 
disposed  to  consider  it  a proof  of  very  unusual  liberality 
on  their  part,  that  they  were  willing  to  meet  with  those  of 
another  communion  on  equal  ground,  and  so  far  to  yield 
to  the  wishes  of  others  as  to  accept  a Congregational 
pastor,  and  to  consent  that  the  services  for  half  the  time 
should  be  according  to  the  most  strict  Puritan  simplicity. 

But  what  will  conduce  to  harmony,  is  the  selection  of 
a pastor,  in  which  the  church  has  been  fortunate.  Per- 
haps I speak  not  without  partiality,  for  Mr.  Seeley  is  a 
very  dear  personal  friend.  For  four  years  we  were  set- 
tled side  by  side  on  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut,  and 
there  I learned  to  love  him.  But  friendship  apart,  it 
does  seem  to  me  that  a better  choice  could  not  have 
been  made  for  a post  which,  it  must  be  confessed,  is  in 
some  respects  a delicate  and  difficult  one.  He  has  great 
tact  and  good  judgment  to  harmonize  differences,  and 
that  earnestness  in  his  work,  which  unites  all  hearts  in 


108 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  one  great  object  of  doing  good.  He  is  an  excellent 
preacher,  and  a faithful  and  laborious  pastor.  From  the 
great  extent  of  Paris,  his  pastoral  visits  have  to  range 
over  a distance  of  several  miles.  But  he  is  unwearied  in 
seeking  out  the  scattered  members  of  his  flock,  and  in 
liis  kindness  to  strangers  that  come  here,  often  without 
an  acquaintance  or  a friend.  Hundreds  of  young  men 
come  to  Paris  from  the  United  States  to  study  medicine, 
and  the  influence  of  such  a Christian  pastor,  in  giving 
them  good  counsel,  and  guarding  them  against  the  snares 
to  ivhich  they  are  exposed ; in  showing  kindness  to  those 
wdio  are  lonely  and  friendless ; in  imparting  consolation 
to  those  who  are  sick,  or  who  may  have  come  here  to 
die,  far  from  their  country  and  home,  cannot  but  be 
most  happy.  The  congregation  may  not  become  a very 
large  one,  for  the  American  population  here  is  always 
floating,  and  it  is  difficult  to  give  a fixed  character  to 
such  an  organization.  But  the  amount  of  good  done  will 
be  very  great. 

I speak  of  its  influence  upon  the  Americans,  for  it  is 
designed  for  them,  and  its  influence  must  be  chiefly 
among  them.  Some  have  imagined  that  this  chapel  was 
to  be  an  engine  of  attack  upon  the  Homan  Catholic 
Church.  But  that  is  entirely  apart  from  its  proper 
design.  To  begin  such  a crusade  would  be  the  height  of 
folly,  and  in  the  present  state  of  things,  would  amount  to 
suicide.  Probably  the  chapel  would  be  shut  up  by  the 
police  in  a week.  Or  if  allowed  to  remain  open,  it  would 


THE  AMERICAN  CHAPEL  IN  PARIS. 


109 


only  provoke  opposition  and  bitterness.  It  may  indeed 
exert,an  influence  upon  Roman  Catholics.  But  it  can  only 
be  the  silent  influence  of  example.  And  that  will  not  be 
small,  if  its  present  constitution  is  continued,  and  it  thus 
presents  a spectacle  of  a union  which  brings  together 
Christians  of  different  nations,  and  of  different  commu- 
nions, to  worship  at  the  same  altar. 

This  peculiarity  already  excites  observation  and  remark. 
It  is  the  best  answer  to  the  constant  reproach  of  Roman- 
ists about  the  divisions  of  Protestants.  Let  it  stand 
therefore  as  a silent  witness  of  the  real,  vital  unity  of  all 
who  truly  hold  the  same  Head,  though  not  bound  by  one 
organization,  and  it  will  produce  its  effect.  It  will  be  a 
symbol  of  the  true  Catholic  spirit  of  American  Christianity. 

Nowhere  is  such  a testimony  to  religion  more  needed 
than  in  Paris.  The  influences  here  which  tend  to  dissi- 
pate all  serious  thought,  are  so  many  and  so  strong,  that 
it  is  cheering  to  see  a few  who  have  remained  faithful, 
assembling  in  the  midst  of  this  population  of  a million  of 
people,  to  keep  holy  the  Sabbath  day,  to  hear  the  Word 
of  God,  to  sing  the  songs  of  Zion,  and  to  strengthen  each 
other  in  their  vows  of  fidelity.  Such  a church,  under  the 
ministry  of  such  a pastor,  will  be  the  means  of  rescuing 
many  who  have  gone  far  astray  amid  the  temptations  of 
this  gay  capital,  and  of  saving  many  more  who  shall 
come  to  it  hereafter,  and  in  all  true  American  hearts,  it 
will  strengthen  every  sacred  tie  which  binds  them  to 
Home,  and  Country,  and  Religion. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


Holland — Face  of  the  Country — Dikes  and  Canals — Energy  of 
the  People — Wealth  and  Commerce — Historical  interest  op 
Holland — Her  Scholars  and  Painters — Wars  for  Liberty — 
Embarkation  of  the  Pilgrims — Friendly  Manners  of  the  Peo- 
ple— How  the  Dutch  enjoy  themselves. 

Amsterdam,  July  1 1858. 

When  we  were  in  England,  it  was  our  good  fortune  to 
meet — at  one  of  those  famous  dinners  which  Mr.  Pea- 
body occasionally  gives  to  his  countrymen  at  the  Star 
and  Garter,  Richmond — Mr.  Motley,  the  historian  of 
the  Dutch  Republic,  and  a conversation  with  him  on 
the  subject  wThich  he  has  so  eloquently  treated,  strength- 
ened a desire  which  we  had  long  felt,  to  visit  Holland. 
This  is  not  a country  which  is  generally  sought  by  tour- 
ists. Romantic  travellers  rush  by  it  in  their  eagerness 
to  reach  the  Rhine  and  Switzerland,  scarcely  casting  a 
look  across  its  dikes  and  canals.  They  think  that  a 
region  so  flat  and  monotonous,  must  be  dreadfully  com- 
mon place.  They  forget  that  a country  does  not  derive 
its  interest  from  scenery  alone,  but  from  its  people  and 
its  history,  and  that  this  small  territory,  which  once  was 
little  better  than  a quagmire  or  a marsh,  and  that  even 
now  can  hardly  keep  its  head  above  water,  has  been  occu. 
pied  by  one  of  the  most  powerful  nations  on  the  globe — 

no 


HOLLAND. 


Ill 


a nation  that  long  disputed  with  England  the  mastery 
of  the  seas,  and  that  stood  side  by  side  with  England  in 
defence  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  If  Holland  can- 
not boast  of  the  lakes  and  mountains  of  Switzerland,  it 
is  equally  rich  in  that  far  higher  interest  which  comes 
from  proud  historic  associations,  from  memories  of  valor, 
patriotism,  and  religion. 

With  these  recollections  fresh  in  mind,  to  impart  in- 
terest to  the  new  scenes  we  were  to  visit,  we  left  Paris 
for  the  north,  and  passing  through  Catholic  Belgium, 
entered  Protestant  Holland.  From  Antwerp  to  Rotter- 
dam the  route  is  partly  by  railway,  and  partly  by  steam- 
boat along  the  river  Maas  (French  Meuse),  whose  broad 
current  flows  through  the  south  of  Holland.  Our  first 
view  of  the  country  was  from  the  elevation  of  the  river  / 
for,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  river  does  afford  a very 
convenient  elevation,  as  its  banks  are  willed  in  by  high 
dikes  on  either  side,  so  that  the  stream  flows  along  the 
top  of  a ridge,  quite  above  the  level  of  the  country; 
and  here,  standing  on  the  deck  of  a steamboat,  one  gets 
a pretty  extensive  view.  The  appearance  of  the  coun- 
try itself  has  been  made  so  familiar  by  Dutch  paintings 
and  by  the  letters  of  travellers,  that  it  is  needless  to  de- 
scribe it  again.  One  picture  will  answer  for  the  whole 
kingdom,  for  every  landscape  is  the  same.  Certain  uni- 
form features  enter  into  every  view,  and  you  can  easily 
combine  them  in  your  eye  and  make  a picture  for  your- 
self. Imagine  a country  so  very  flat  that  it  actually 


112 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


sinks  tlie  other  way  and  becomes  a little  hollow ; or 
think  of  the  most  level  prairie  which  you  ever  saw,  and 
one  of  such  extent  that,  as  our  Western  friends  would 
say,  you  are  “ out  of  sight  of  land,”  with  not  a hill  or 
tree  or  shrub  to  break  the  boundless  monotony.  All 
round  this  huge  pancake  is  a low  crust,  where  the 
ground  is  turned  up  at  the  edges  into  dikes,  and  the 
whole  space  between  is  crossed  and  recrossed  by  canals, 
which  always  run  in  straight  lines,  somewhat  as  in  the 
garden  of  Eden  in  the  old  family  Bible,  where  the  four 
rivers  cross  each  other  at  right  angles.  To  put  life  in 
the  scene,  these  plains  are  covered  with  millions  of  black 
and  white  cattle,  while  the  most  conspicuous  objects 
which  rise  above  the  line  of  the  horizon  are  the  wind- 
mills, which  seem,  like  grim  sentinels,  to  keep  watch  and 
ward  over  the  country.  They  stand  bolt  upright,  like 
so  many  doughty  Dutchmen,  with  their  long  arms  beat- 
ing the  air  and  bidding  defiance  to  every  foe. 

That  will  answer  for  a description  of  the  country.  The 
cities  are  a little  different,  though  not  much,  except  that 
they  have  more  houses,  and  that  they  wade  deeper  in 
the  water ; a large  part  of  Amsterdam  and  Rotterdam 
being  built  on  piles  driven  in  the  mud. 

Thus  stranded  at  low  tide,  the  honest  Dutch  have  to 
lead  a kind  of  amphibious  existence.  Thousands  of  the 
poorer  classes  live  in  boats  on  the  canals,  like  the  Chi’ 
uese  in  their  junks.  And  those  on  shore  are  never  out 
of  sight  of  dikes  and  canals.  A Yankee  would  think  a 


DUTCH  IDEAS  OF  BEAUTY. 


113 


house  thus  perched  on  poles,  with  its  under  timbers 
soaking  in  the  water,  “ slightly  damp.”  But  there  is 
nothing  like  being  used  to  it.  A Dutchman  deems  the 
prospect  of  still  water  an  element  of  beauty  in  a land- 
scape, and  if  by  possibility  he  is  deprived  of  that  pleasing 
vision,  his  first  care  is  to  make  an  artificial  pond  or  canal 
Avithin  his  own  grounds.  Give  him  the  dryest  piece  of 
land  in  all  the  Netherlands  to  build  a house  upon, 
and  he  will  immediately  dig  a ditch  before  his  door,  that 
he  may  have  a stagnant  puddle  to  gladden  his  eyes  and 
regale  his  nostrils. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  what  ideas  of  beauty  people 
get  who  live  in  a country  where  nature  is  on  such  a 
scale.  The  day  avc  came  to  Amsterdam  A\Tas  one  of  the 
hottest  of  summer,  and  we  were  glad  to  get  to  the  end 
of  our  journey,  for  we  rejoiced  in  the  thought  of  a quiet 
inn,  cool  rooms  and  bountiful  ablutions. 

“ To  AAThat  hotel  do  you  go  ?”  said  a felloAV-traveller  in 
the  railway  carriage. 

V To  the  Hotel  des  Pays  Bas,”  I replied,  as  that  stood 
first  in  the  guide  book. 

The  gentleman  recommended  rather  the  Hotel  Doelen. 
Turning  again  to  Murray,  I found  the  two  set  doAvn  as 
of  equal  excellence.  But  our  courteous  informant  set 
forth  the  special  advantage  of  the  latter  as  commanding 
a fine  “ water  view.”  That  decided  the  question.  Dus- 
ty and  w^eary,  we  started  at  that  glimpse  of  coolness  like 
horses  on  the  burning  desert.  The  sight  of  a beautiful 


114 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


sheet  of  water  under  our  windows  would  soothe  our 
fevered  pulses.  We  of  course  pictured  to  ourselves  a 
broad  and  placid  lake,  or  at  least  a river — something 
like  the  lake  of  Geneva,  or  the  blue  and  arrowy  Rhone. 
There  we  would  sit  at  evening,  and  see  the  sun  setting 
in  the  waves,  or  the  moonlight  covering  them  with  sil- 
ver. With  all  speed  we  drove  through  the  long  streets 
of  Amsterdam  to  this  garden  of  delights,  and  instantly 
demanded  a room  with  a balcony  to  overlook  the  en- 
chanting prospect.  The  landlord  looked  a little  blank 
at  our  excited  manner,  but  straight  led  the  way  to  a 
spacious  apartment.  We  rushed  to  the  windows,  when 
(may  all  the  saints  preserve  us !)  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen  but  a dirty  canal,  covered  with  cabbage  leaves 
and  geese  (not  swans),  and  anything  but  pleasant  to  sight 
or  smell.  W e turned  and  looked  at  each  other  in  blank 
dismay,  but  the  next  moment  the  joke  of  the  thing  put 
us  in  a gale  of  laughter.  Happily  the  other  promises 
of  this  hotel  did  not  mock  our  hopes.  If  w~e  found  no 
lake  or  river,  we  did  find  excellent  baths,  which  soon 
washed  off  all  the  dust  of  the  Low  Countries.  Of  other 
“creature  comforts  ” it  supplied  all  that  one  could 
desire.*  The  servant  brought  us  in  a delicious  tea,  and 
letting  the  curtain  fall  to  shut  out  the  “water  prospect,” 
we  sat  down  in  the  merriest  mood.  To  add  to  our 
sense  of  dignity,  we  found  that  the  Count  de  Chambord, 
the  Bourbon  heir  to  the  throne  of  France,  had  just  been 
spending  three  days  here,  and  of  course  the  odor  of 


DIKES  AND  CANALS. 


115 


royalty  still  lingered  in  the  house,  and  imparted  a slight 
flavor  of  gentility  to  all  who  patronized  this  aristocratic 
establishment. 

As  might  be  expected,  these  watery  foundations  some- 
times give  way,  or  sink  a little  too  low,  so  that  the 
houses  suddenly  become  weak  in  the  knees,  and  lean  over 
like  tottering  old  men,  and  to  us  it  seemed  at  first  as  if 
they  were  going  to  pitch  into  the  street,  but  still  they 
held  up  their  heads,  and  the  people  said  they  were  quite 
secure,  and  they  live  in  them  without  the  slightest  fear. 
But  while  the  water  is  thus  kept  out  of  the  houses,  it  is 
allowed  to  flow  freely  in  the  streets.  In  fact,  the  prin- 
cipal streets  are  merely  quays,  with  a canal  running 
through  the  middle,  and  a carriage  road  on  either  side. 
This  good  city  of  Amsterdam  is  thus  divided  into  ninety- 
five  islands,  which  are  connected  by  no  less  than  two 
hundred  and  ninety  bridges  ! N o wonder  that  it  seems 
like  the  first  appearance  of  dry  land,  “ standing  out  of 
the  water  and  in  the  wTater,”  and  that  Erasmus  should 
say  that  “ he  had  reached  a city,  whose  inhabitants,  like 
crows,  lived  on  the  tops  of  trees.”  But  the  vigor 
and  spirit  of  the  people  appear  all  the  greater  from  the 
obstacles  which  nature  puts  in  their  way.  The  country 
has  to  fight  for  existence  against  the  sea.  Nor  is  it  a 
danger  which,  once  conquered,  is  forever  subdued.  It 
is  always  rising  and  threatening  ruin.  The  necessity  of 
guarding  against  the  elements  exists  now  as  much  as 
ever.  Amsterdam  is  not  secure  for  a day  except  as  it 


116 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


keeps  up  its  defences  against  the  inxushing  of  the  sea. 
All  round  the  city  are  reared  colossal  embankments  to 
keep  out  the  water.  Last  evening  we  drove  along  the 
dikes,  which  protect  the  city  on  the  side  of  the  Zuyder 
Zee,  and  were  amazed  at  the  height  and  solidity  of  these 
works,  which  reminded  us  of  the  walls  and  moat  of  the 
citadel  of  Antwerp.  As  we  rode  along  in  a carriage  on 
the  top  of  the  dikes,  we  looked  down  at  the  people  who 
were  walking  in  the  streets,  not  only  far  below  us,  but 
below  the  level  of  the  water  in  the  harbor.  These  great 
works  of  course  require  constant  labor  to  keep  them  in 
repair.  Watchfulness  can  never  be  relaxed,  for  the  city 
is  never  free  from  danger.  There  is  an  enemy  always  at 
their  gates,  knocking  and  thundering  for  admission. 
When  a great  storm,  or  a long  northwest  wind  raises 
the  ocean  above  its  usual  level,  and  the  tides  dash  and 
break  against  the  walls  of  rock  and  earth,  the  danger 
becomes  imminent,  and  the  defences  are  watched  night 
and  day.  Nothing  but  unceasing  vigilance  insures 
safety.  This  necessity  of  keeping  up  an  armed  force  to 
watch  the  enemy,  and  a corps  of  sappers  and  miners,  to 
drive  him  back,  entails  a vast  expense  on  the  city  and 
the  country.  One-third  of  the  whole  revenue  of  Hol- 
land has  to  be  applied  to  keeping  up  the  dikes  along  the 
coast  and  the  banks  of  the  rivers — a sum  amounting 
annually  to  three  millions  of  dollars. 

With  such  natural  disadvantages,  it  is  a wonder  that 
Holland  ever  attained  any  importance.  It  could  not 


ENERGY  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 


117 


have  been  anything  more  than  a desolate  coast,  furnish- 
ing a scanty  living  to  a few  poor  fishermen,  if  it  had  not 
been  peopled  by  an  indomitable  race.  But  great  obsta- 
cles, which  crush  the  weak  and  indolent,  call  out  all  the 
force  of  the  strong  and  the  brave.  And  I am  sure  that 
it  is  partly  this  very  fact  of  having  to  wage  a constant 
war  with  the  elements,  that  has  developed  in  the  Dutch 
such  a stubborn  strength  of  will,  such  heroic  industry 
and  perseverance.  This  has  made  their  country,  so  in- 
significant in  territory,  one  of  the  most  powerful  king- 
doms in  Europe,  both  upon  land  and  sea.  It  is  not  so 
long  ago,  that  England  has  forgotten  how  stoutly  Hol- 
land disputed  her  naval  supremacy ; how  the  Dutch 
sailed  up  the  Medway,  and  burnt  the  fleet  at  Chatham, 
and  how  the  thunder  of  their  cannon  in  the  Thames  sent 
terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  London.  But  two 
hundred  years  have  passed  away  since  brave  old  Yan 
Tromp  defeated  Admiral  Blake,  and  sailed  through  the 
Channel  in  triumph,  with  a broom  nailed  to  his  masthead, 
to  signify  that  he  had  swept  the  English  from  the  seas. 
It  was  with  no  small  interest  that  I saw  in  the  museum 
at  the  Hague,  the  very  armor  that  he  wore  in  his  battles, 
with  more  than  one  huge  dent  in  its  iron  plate,  where 
grapeshot  had  struck  that  manly  breast. 

The  rival  of  England  in  war,  Holland  was  her  superior 
in  commercial  importance.  Amsterdam  succeeded  to 
Antwerp,  as  Antwerp  had  succeeded  to  Venice.  Its 
commerce  extended  to  all  parts  of  the  world.  Its  mer- 


118 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


chants  were  princes.  A monument  of  the  wealth  and 
power  of  those  days  may  be  seen  in  the  old  Stadhuis, 
erected  by  the  burghers  of  this  city  for  their  munici- 
pal government  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  which 
Louis  Bonaparte,  when  king  of  Holland,  occupied  as  his 
palace.  To  make  a foundation,  nearly  14,000  piles  were 
driven  70  feet  into  the  ground,  and  on  this  was  reared 
a marble  structure  which  cost,  I do  not  dare  to  say,  how 
many  millions. 

That  former  ascendency  of  Holland  has  departed. 
She  is  no  longer  the  commercial  centre  of  Europe.  But 
she  is  still  a country  of  vast  wealth.  The  bankers  of 
Amsterdam  are  among  the  richest  on  the  continent. 
The  foreign  commerce  is  still  imposing.  In  the  Museum 
at  the  Hague,  is  a collection  of  articles  from  Japan, 
which  shows  the  extent  of  the  trade  with  that  distant 
empire,  which  the  Dutch  alone  of  all  European  nations, 
have  carried  on  for  two  hundred  years.  Rotterdam  alone 
sends  out  near  a hundred  large  ships  a year,  to  the  Dutch 
colony  of  Batavia.  Our  hotel  in  Rotterdam  was  on  the 
great  quay,  called  the  Boompjes,  and  from  our  windows, 
we  looked  down  on  the  decks  of  stout  merchantmen, 
fitting  out  for  the  East  Indies,  which,  notwithstanding 
their  peaceful  purpose,  were  armed  with  formidable  guns 
to  keep  off  the  Malay  pirates.  These  crowded  ports, 
and  this  forest  of  shipping,  are  signs  of  that  vast  foreign 
trade  which  still  pours  a stream  of  wealth  into  these 
broad  lowlands. 


SCHOLARS  AND  PAINTERS. 


119 


Nor  was  Holland,  while  thus  rich  and  prosperous,  un- 
distinguished in  art  and  literature.  The  name  of  Eras- 
mus, whose  monument  stands  on  a public  square  of  Rot- 
terdam his  native  city,  is  as  eminent  in  Holland,  as  that 
of  Luther  in  Germany.  The  University  of  Leyden  was 
one  of  the  first  in  Europe,  and  has  been  distinguished  by 
the  studies  and  teachings  of  Grotius  and  Descartes,  and 
by  a long  line  of  illustrious  names.  Her  painters  were 
equal  to  her  scholars.  Rembrandt  is  the  glory  of  Am- 
sterdam, as  Rubens  was  of  Antwerp  ; and  he  is  but  one 
of  a whole  school  of  Dutch  painters,  whose  "works  not 
only  fill  the  galleries  of  the  Hague  and  of  Amsterdam, 
but  adorn  every  great  collection  of  pictures  in  Europe. 

But  nobler  than  literary  fame,  or  than  mere  deeds  of 
arms,  is  the  heroic  part  borne  by  Holland  in  defence  of 
liberty  and  of  the  Protestant  Religion.  As  I ride  over 
the  country,  I cannot  recall  without  a thrill  of  admira- 
tion the  scenes  at  once  terrible  and  glorious,  which  have 
transpired  on  these  peaceful  plains,  and  around  the  walls 
of  these  cities.  This  small  kingdom  has  been  the  battle- 
field of  one  of  the  most  memorable  struggles  in  history, 
when  the  Netherlands  rose  against  the  yoke  of  Spain. 
These  plains,  now  so  fresh  and  smiling  in  their  summer’s 
green,  have  often  been  red  with  blood.  These  cities, 
whose  church  spires  gleam  so  peacefully  among  the  trees, 
have  been  beleaguered  by  foreign  armies.  They  have 
heard  the  cannon  thundering  at  their  gates,  and  have 
withstood  long  and  dreadful  sieges  with  heroic  endur- 


120 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ance — resisting,  not  only  the  enemy  without,  but  famine 
and  pestilence  within — a courage  sometimes  rewarded, 
as  at  Haarlem,  by  a perfidious  massacre,  or,  as  at  Leyden, 
by  a deliverance  obtained  only  by  the  voluntary  destruc- 
tion of  their  country.  For  more  than  once,  these  low, 
sunken  fields,  where  the  cattle  now  graze  so  quietly, 
have  been  flooded  by  the  inhabitants  themselves,  who 
thus  devoted  their  country  to  ruin,  that  it  might  be  freed 
from  its  invaders. 

But  the  prize  obtained  was  worth  all  this  sacrifice 
of  treasure  and  of  blood.  In  fighting  for  independ- 
ence of  Spain,  Holland  was  fighting  the  battle  of  all 
Protestant  Europe.  And  wdien  that  contest  was  ended, 
she  had  again  to  stand  in  the  breach  against  the  armies 
of  Louis  XIV.  The  Prince  of  Orange,  was  the  centre 
and  soul  of  the  coalition  against  that  overwhelming 
power  of  France,  wdiich  threatened  every  free  state 
in  Europe.  Thus  it  was  that  in  the  great  struggles  of 
past  centuries,  Holland,  as  well  as  England,  was  fight- 
ing the  battle  of  our  liberties.  Indeed,  Holland  was  in 
advance  of  England  in  the  principles  of  liberty.  It 
afforded  an  asylum  to  the  persecuted  Puritans,  who 
sought  here  that  freedom  to  w'orship  God  which  was 
denied  them  at  home,  and  from  Holland  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  sailed  to  found  a glorious  commonwealth  on  the 
shores  of  the  new  world. 

While  at  Rotterdam  we  sought  to  find  the  place  from 
which  the  Pilgrims  embarked.  The  spot  is  not  very  dis- 


EMBARKATION  OF  THE  TILGRIMS. 


121 


tinctly  defined.  Delft  lies  between  Rotterdam  and  the 
Hague,  but  on  the  other  side  of  Rotterdam  is  a small 
village,  which  still  bears  the  name  of  Delft’s  Havre,  and 
this,  it  seemed  probable,  was  the  Delft  Haven  from  which 
they  sailed.  Here  we  found  a small  inlet,  which  leads 
out  into  the  broad  river  that  rolls  on  to  the  sea,  and 
though  no  column  marks  the  hallowed  strand,  we  thought 
we  had  found  the  very  spot  from  which,  two  hundred 
years  ago,  took  place  that  embarkation,  an  event  that 
seemed  so  little  then,  but  which  appears  so  mighty  now. 
Our  thoughts  went  back  to  that  hour.  We  saw  the 
Mayflower  lying  at  the  quay,  her  company  all  gathered 
on  the  deck,  wThile  their  pastor,  Robinson,  knelt  down 
and  prayed  that  God  might  bear  them  safely  on  their 
way.  Precious  was  the  freight  of  that  little  bark. 
Slowly  it  moved  from  the  shore,  and  as  it  dropped  down 
the  stream,  and  its  sails  began  to  flutter  in  the  wind,  it 
turned  its  prow  to  the  setting  sun,  bearing  over  the  sea 
the  seeds  of  a mighty  empire. 

We  are  glad  to  find  that  Holland,  which  went  with 
Germany  and  England  in  the  Reformation,  still  remains 
firmly  attached  to  the  Protestant  faith,  and  that  religion 
has  strong  hold  of  the  national  heart.  As  we  came  up 
the  Maas,  we  passed  the  old  city  of  Dort,  where  the 
famous  Synod  was  held,  which  framed  the  Confession  of 
Faith.  And,  curiously  enough,  I learned  that  a Dutch 
Synod  was  at  that  moment  in  session  in  the  town.  The 
Dutch  give  proof  of  their  practical  Christianity,  both  by 

6 


122 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


their  religious  institutions  and  their  manifold  charities. 
This  city  has  long  been  distinguished  for  the  number  of 
its  benevolent  institutions,  so  much  so  that  when  Louis 
XIV.  was  about  to  bring  a great  army  against  it,  and  some 
one  predicted  to  Charles  II.  its  inevitable  fall,  that  mon- 
arch, who  had  spent  here  part  of  his  exile,  replied  in  a 
more  serious  strain  than  was  usual  with  him : “ I am  of 
opinion  that  Providence  will  preserve  Amsterdam,  if  it 
were  only  for  the  great  charity  they  have  for  their  poor.” 
This  character  it  retains  to  the  present  day.  The  clergy 
of  Holland,  too,  I believe,  will  compare  well  with  those  of 
the  other  Protestant  States  of  Europe.*  At  Rotterdam, 
we  had  hoped  to  see  Dr.  Osterzee,'  who  is  celebrated  for 
his  eloquence  in  the  pulpit.  We  called  at  his  house,  and 
were  most  kindly  received  by  his  amiable  and  intelligent 
lady,  but  unfortunately  he  was  himself  absent  from  the 
city. 

Where  Protestantism  is  the  national  religion,  one  is 
pretty  sure  to  find  popular  liberty.  This  is  eminently 
true  of  Holland.  We  see  at  once  that  we  are  among  a 
free  people.  We  mark  many  tokens  of  the  indomitable 
Dutch  spirit,  which  will  not  brook  tyranny  in  any  form. 
It  was  quite  a relief  in  coming  from  France,  where  the 
strong  arm  of  power  is  ever  displayed  in  the  streets  and 
before  the  eyes  of  the  people,  and  the  police  watch  every 
step,  and  overhear  every  word,  to  emerge  into  a country 
where  a man  can  think  and  speak  his  honest  thoughts 
without  restraint  or  fear.  The  government  is  one  of  the 


THE  KING  AND  GOVERNMENT. 


123 


freest  in  Europe.  To  be  sure,  the  king  as  a man  is  not 
much  to  boast  of.  He  is  a mauvais  snjet , more  fond  of 
pretty  French  actresses,  than  of  his  own  true-hearted 
wife.  At  the  Hague  we  rode  out  to  the  queen’s  palace 
in  “ the  wood,”  a stately  beechen  grove,  two  miles  long 
— a retreat  in  which  it  would  seem  that  royalty  might 
find  rest.  As  we  rode  under  these  arched  forest  aisles,  I 
could  not  but  think  wTith  pity  and  admiration  of  the  noble 
woman  who  is  here  made  unhappy  by  a profligate  hus- 
band. But  we  w'on’t  speak  of  this  man,  for  he  is  of  small 
account.  In  a constitutional  monarchy,  a king  is  rather 
the  figure-head  of  the  ship  of  state,  than  a vital  part  of 
the  machinery.  True,  a handsome  figure-head  is  a very 
pretty  ornament,  bu\  it  is  the  mighty  wind,  or  the  steam, 
that  makes  the  ship  go.  Some  think  the  sturdy  vessel 
would  buffet  the  seas  quite  as  well  without  this  rather 
expensive  decoration — in  fact,  when  kings  are  like  the 
king  of  Holland,  perhaps  a little  better.  But  it  is  the 
glory  of  a free  government,  that  it  is  not  dependent  on 
the  personal  character  of  the  ruler.  In  an  absolute  mon- 
archy such  a sovereign  might  debauch  a whole  court,  and 
tyrannize  over  a whole  country.  But  the  Dutch  are  not 
the  people  to  play  such  tricks  upon.  They  are  free  born, 
and  call  no  man  master.  In  visiting  the  Hall  of  the 
States  General  at  the  Hague,  I reflected  with  pride  that 
this  was  the  seat  of  the  deliberations  of  an  assembly 
which  was  a true  representative  of  the  national  will. 

Thus  Holland  is  as  free  a country  as  England.  And  it 


124 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


has  what  England  has  not,  not  only  liberty,  but  equality . 
The  wide  distinction  of  ranks,  which  in  England  forces 
itself  upon  the  notice  of  a stranger,  is  here  unknown. 
There  is,  indeed,  a Dutch  nobility,  at  least  in  name.  But 
it  has  no  exclusive  privileges,  and  is  not  surrounded  with 
that 

“ Divinity  which  doth  hedge  a king.” 

We  were  amused  by  a stout  burgher  of  Amsterdam, 
whom  we  met  in  the  cars,  and  who  gave  us  much  infor- 
mation about  his  country.  “ Nobles  !”  said  he,  with  an 
air  of  disdain,  “ What  are  they  ? The  only  difference 
between  them  and  us,  is  that  our  blood  is  red,  while  theirs 
is  black  /”  And,  indeed,  it  is  true  in  many  countries 
besides  Spain,  that  the  race  has  so  degenerated,  that  often 
those  who  are  highest  in  rank  are  lowest  in  intellect  and 
character.  They  may  be  very  great  lords,  but  they  are 
very  small  men. 

But  I am  getting  into  a sober  and  almost  sombre  vein 
with  all  this  talk  of  politics  and  besieged  cities,  and  bat- 
tles upon  land  and  sea.  There  is  a more  familiar  and 
more  pleasant  side  to  these  stout-hearted  Dutchmen. 
They  have  their  stern  face  which  they  show  in  resolute 
labor,  and  in  the  front  of  battle,  but  they  have  also  a 
smile  of  humor  and  good  nature.  You  are  quite  mis- 
taken if  you  think  the  Dutch  a dull,  phlegmatic  race  that 
never  relax  from  a grim  solemnity.  They  are  as  hearty 
in  their  pleasures  as  in  their  industry.  They  are  hard 


MANNERS  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 


125 


workers  and  terrible  fighters,  but  they  know  equally  how 
to  enjoy  repose  after  labor.  It  is  a cure  for  the  blues  to 
see  a Dutchman’s  round  and  sober  face  relax  into  a smile. 
When  he  laughs,  it  is  enough  to  wake  the  Seven  Sleepers. 

Before  we  bid  these  hearty  people  good  bye,  it  is  but 
just  to  note  these  lighter  features  of  manner  and  of  char- 
acter. Having  seen  the  Hollander  upon  his  dikes  and  on 
the  stormy  main,  let  us  see  him  under  his  own  roof-tree 
and  smoking  his  peaceful  pipe. 

Nothing  at  once  amuses  and  instructs  me  more  than 
these  homely  views  of  common  life.  I like  to  see  a peo- 
ple, not  only  as  they  appear  on  the  grand  theatre  of  his- 
tory, but  as  they  move  about  in  their  daily  walks.  I find 
endless  matter  of  observation  in  strolling  through  some 
great  thoroughfare  like  the  Hoogstraat,  or  High  street 
of  Rotterdam,  or  the  Kalverstraat  of  Amsterdam,  and 
noting  the  people  in  the  streets,  in  their  shops  and 
houses ; to  see  how  they  look  and  how  they  live. 

The  first  thing  which  strikes  you  in  a genuine  Hol- 
lander is  his  somewhat  remarkable  person,  which  is  as 
worthy  of  observation  as  that  of  John  Bull  himself. 
Here  I find  a great  resemblance  between  the  country 
and  the  people.  The  land  is  flat,  and  the  Dutch  are 
squat — that  is,  broad,  large,  and  round,  rather  than  per- 
pendicular. The  original  idea  of  a Dutchman  is  fatness. 
Dutch  babies  are  born  fat.  Dutch  belles  are  plump  and 
solid.  Indeed  fatness  seems  to  be  the  type  of  beauty, 
and  the  end  of  all  good  living  is  to  develop  this  corpo- 


126 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


real  tendency.  A lean,  lank  Dutchman  would  he  a mon- 
ster in  nature.  If  such  a creature  were  to  show  his  head 
anywhere,  he  would  deserve  to  be  scouted  as  an  impostor. 
Whenever  a Dutch  artist  would  place  on  canvas  the  im- 
posing figure  of  a magistrate,  or  other  high  personage, 
he  is  sure  to  give  a substantial  basis  to  his  dignity. 
Rembrandt  never  paints  a Dutch  burgher  but  in  broad 
and  ample  proportions.  This  national  type  goes  with  the 
Dutch  the  world  over.  The  same  portly  figure  is  drawn 
with  inimitable  grace  by  our  Washington  Irving  in  his 
sketches  of  the  early  Dutch  settlers  on  the  banks  of  the 
Hudson.  This  outward  resemblance  remains  through 
generations.  The  same  rotund  figures  which  you  see  in 
all  the  pictures  of  the  old  Dutch  masters,  you  may 
recognize  to-day  on  the  Exchange  at  Amsterdam. 

Yet  think  not  that  these  heavy  Hollanders  are  there- 
fore gross  in  their  persons  or  habits.  Indeed,  we  are 
more  inclined  to  pronounce  them  at  once  the  cleanest 
and  politest  of  men.  Cleanliness  is  a national  mania.  In 
proof  of  this  one  has  but  to  venture  into  the  streets  of 
Amsterdam,  on  a Saturday,  which  is  a field  day  among 
the  Dutch  housewives.  It  is  the  day  of  universal  scouring 
and  scrubbing — the  triumph  of  women,  and  the  terror  of 
the  other  sex — when  valiant  maids  flourish  with  mop  and 
broom,  and  men  fly  before  them — nay,  when  even  those 
who  are  stout  of  heart,  grow  faint  and  cowardly,  and  sneak 
along  the  middle  of  the  streets  for  fear  of  a ducking. 

And  then  as  to  politeness,  even  the  French  must  yield 


HOW  THE  DUTCH  ENJOY  THEMSELVES. 


127  - 


to  the  Dutch  in  studied  courtesy  and  formal  deference  to 
the  fairer  sex.  A Dutchman  never  meets  a lady  of  his 
acquaintance  without  taking  off  his  hat.  He  does  not 
merely  touch  it  with  his  finger  in  the  curt  English  way, 
but  takes  it  clear  off,  even  though  it  exposes  a poor  bald 
head  to  the  winter’s  cold.  So  incessant  is  this  motion 
that  in  walking  through  a crowded  street,  or  in  a public 
garden,  the  hat  is  off  about  half  the  time. 

If  you  would  see  how  the  Dutch  enjoy  themselves, 
visit  one  of  the  public  gardens  which  are  found  in  the 
suburbs  of  every  city,  and  see  the  crowds  that  gather  in 
the  evening  for  society  and  amusement.  As  we  have 
been  here  in  the  full  bloom  of  summer,  w^e  have  seen 
these  favorite  resorts  in  all  their  glory. 

At  Rotterdam,  after  a day  spent  in  seeing  the  sights 
of  the  city,  towards  evening  we  fell  into  a crowd  which 
was  streaming  out  of  the  town,  all  wending  their  way 
to  the  same  point  of  attraction.  We  found  a large  open 
ground,  like  an  English  park,  which  had  been  moulded 
with  great  care,  gentle  slopes  sinking  away  into  softly 
wooded  dells,  with  shady  nooks  and  winding  walks  and 
glistening  basins  of  water.  Here  on  a broad  lawn,  in- 
closed from  the  crowd,  was  a space  set  apart  for  the  fash- 
ionable public.  We  came,  expecting  to  pay  for  admis- 
sion, as  is  the  custom  in  most  of  the  public  gardens  in 
France  and  Germany.  But  we  were  stopped  at  the  gate, 
and  informed  that  this  part  of  the  grounds  was  private, 
being  reserved  for  the  gentility  of  Rotterdam.  It  was 


128 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


especially  exclusive  on  this  occasion,  when  a fete  was 
given  by  the  officers  of  the  garrison  to  the  more  distin- 
guished families  of  the  ])lace.  We  bowed,  and  were 
about  to  retire,  wdien  the  officer  in  command,  seeing  our 
perplexity,  came  to  the  rescue,  explaining,  in  very  good 
French,  the  nature  of  this  fete  champetre,  but  then  with 
great  politeness  welcoming  us  as  strangers  to  their  hospi- 
tality. We  accordingly  entered  the  enchanted  ground 
as  honored  guests.  We  took  our  seats  under  the  trees, 
and  were  pleased  in  observing  the  different  parties  as 
they  entered  the  grounds  ; to  note  their  cordial  greetings 
as  they  passed  along,  the  hat  bobbing  up  at  every  group 
in  which  they  recognized  friends.  Soon  hundreds  of 
these  groups  were  gathered  under  the  trees — sometimes 
a family  forming  a party  by  itself,  and  sometimes  a circle 
of  friends  joining  together.  There  was  no  attempt  at 
fashionable  display.  The  dresses  were  simple,  and  the 
ladies  brought  their  work  and  sat  sewing  or  knitting  in 
the  most  quiet  domestic  manner  at  little  round  tables, 
from  which  they  sipped  their  ice  cream,  or  the  men  drank 
their  beer,  or  contented  themselves  with  a cheerful  * 
cup  of  tea.  W e were  amused  in  watching  the  different 
groups,  scattered  about  under  the  trees.  Here  an  honest 
matron  was  busily  engaged  in  making  the  tea,  her  eyes 
of  course  intently  fixed  upon  her  task  (Heaven  bless  her 
motherly  heart),  while  a little  innocent  flirtation  was  go- 
ing on  between  a young  cavalier  and  a pair  of  black  eyes, 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table.  But  all,  old  and  young 


HOW  TIIE  HUTCH  ENJOY  THEMSELVES. 


129 


alike,  seemed  happy.  Not  a frown  marred  the  gaiety 
and  gladness  of  the  hour.  Thus  they  chatted  and 
laughed  merrily,  while  the  sunset  gilded  the  heavens, 
and  the  fine  military  band  poured  forth  stirring  strains 
upon  the  evening  air.  Seldom  have  I looked  upon  a 
scene  of  more  simple,  honest,  heartfelt  happiness. 

These  Dutch  girls  are  true  daughters  of  Eve,  as  full 
of  archness  and  coquetry  as  their  sisters  of  sunnier  climes. 
Indeed  they  have  one  cunning  contrivance  which  I have 
not  yet  seen  elsewhere,  and  which  seems  to  be  designed 
as  an  aid  to  all  distressed  lovers — an  art  of  flirtation  made 
easy.  It  is  a little  double  faced  mirror  hung  out  of  the 
window  at  such  an  angle  as  to  reflect  every  figure  passing 
in  the  street.  Here  the  little  wTitch  may  sit  hidden,  and 
while  appearing  very  industrious  in  sewing,  or  absorbed 
in  a book,  can  keep  watch  of  every  handsome  face  that 
passes  by  her  enchanted  castle.  And  if — if  you  know — 
a gay  gallant,  walking  on  the  pavement,  in  a fit  of  ab- 
straction, should  stop  a moment  and  kiss  his  hand,  no- 
body can  box  the  little  minx’s  ears,  because  she  looks  up 
from  her  book  just  in  time  to  see  it. 

Womanly  vanity  and  fashion  exist  all  over  the  world. 
But  they  sometimes  show  themselves  in  strange  ways.  W e 
for  example  should  not  think  a pretty  face  improved  by 
two  gold  spoons  branching  out  from  behind  the  ears,  and 
covering  the  temples  like  blinders.  Yet  such  is  the  fash- 
ion wdth  Dutch  country  lasses,  wTho  wish  to  set  olF  their 
charms.  No  doubt  a rosy  Dutch  face,  round  as  a dump- 

6* 


130 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


ling,  and  thus  embossed  with  gold,  does  look  all  the 
prettier  in  the  fond  lover’s  eyes. 

Take  all  these  things  together — the  friendly  manners, 
the  solid  comfort,  the  freedom  and  independence — and  it 
must  be  confessed  that  Holland  combines,  in  a high 
degree,  all  the  elements  of  prosperity  and  happiness. 
Relatively,  its  power  is  not  so  great  as  it  was  two 
hundred  years  ago,  for  England  has  advanced  with 
such  gigantic  strides  as  to  have  far  outstripped  her 
ancient  rival.  But  the  country  is  still  rich  in  the 
natural  elements  of  wealth,  and  the  people  are  industri- 
ous and  happy.  And  what  charms  a stranger  is  the  air 
of  universal  contentment  and  the  kind  and  friendly 
feeling  which  seems  to  pervade  all  classes.  The  very 
houses  seem  to  be  on  good  terms  with  each  other,  and  as 
they  lean  their  heads  together  across  the  street,  they 
seem  to  be  talking  in  a friendly  manner  with  their  neigh- 
bors over  the  way.  Even  the  storks  seem  to  be  on  the 
best  terms  with  the  people,  as  they  walk  about  on  the 
roofs  of  the  houses,  with  none  to  molest  them,  and  occa- 
sionally put  their  long  necks  down  the  chimneys,  as  if 
to  whisper  confidentially  to  the  family  below.  Thus  the 
Dutch  have  learned  the  good  rule  to  “ live  and  let  live.” 
They  know  how  to  enjoy  life  without  envying  or  trou- 
bling their  neighbors.  For  all  these  things  I like  the 
Dutch.  I like  their  queer,  quaint  old  towns.  I like  their 
simple  manners,  and  their  honest,  friendly  ways.  They 
are  not  as  proud  as  the  English,  nor  as  ambitious  of  glory 


TIIEIR  CHARACTER. 


131 


as  the  French,  but  they  are  a people  less  corrupted  than 
either — simple,  virtuous,  and  brave,  that  dwell  contented 
in  their  own  land,  that  love  their  homes,  their  wives  and 
children,  their  country,  and  their  God.  And  perhaps 
this  small  kingdom  contains  as  little  poverty  and  ignor- 
ance, and  comprises  as  much  material  comfort,  as  much 
intelligence,  as  much  virtue,  and  as  much  real  happiness, 
as  can  be  found  in  any  equal  space  on  the  surface  of  the 
globe. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Leaving  Holland — Hanover  and  the  Georges — Hamburg— Beauty 
of  the  City — its  Commerce. 

Hamburg,  July  20 th,  1858. 

It  was  a long  stretch  from  Amsterdam  to  Hamburg,  but 
as  we  were  bound  for  the  north  of  Europe,  we  must 
needs  pass  this  way.  The  most  direct  route  is  by  sea, 
and  steamers  make  the  voyage  every  week.  But  there 
is  also  a way  of  getting  here  by  railroad,  which  indeed 
compels  a detour  through  Germany,  but  in  this  case,  as 
in  many  others,  “ the  longest  way  round  is  the  shortest 
way  home.”  So  we  decided  to  keep  to  the  land.  Mine 
host  of  the  inn  at  Amsterdam,  who  was  a round  and 
rosy  cheeked  man,  the  very  image  of  good  cheer  and  of 
Dutch  hospitality,  shook  us  warmly  by  the  hand,  and 
wished  us  all  manner  of  blessings  on  our  journey ; and 
the  carriage  soon  took  us  beyond  the  city  gates,  and  the 
cars  whirled  us  away  from  the  land  of  dikes  and  canals. 

When  Voltaire  bade  good  bye  to  Holland,  he  left  as 
usual  a stinging  sarcasm  behind  him  : “ Adieu,  canaux, 
canards,  canaille !”  The  old  sinner ! I hate  him,  thus 
to  speak  of  his  betters.  But  we  were  quite  sad  to  part 

132 


LEAVING  HOLLAND. 


133 


from  Holland  so  soon,  for  though  we  had  been  in  it  but  a 
few  days,  yet  we  had  come  to  feel  at  home  among  these 
good  natured  and  honest  Dutchmen.  Byron  says  that 

“ Even  in  leaving  the  most  unpleasant  places  and  people, 

One  cannot  help  turning  back  and  looking  at  the  steeple.” 

Might  we  not  then  linger  in  a country  where  we  had  ex- 
perienced only  kindness,  and  look  up  to  every  windmill 
as  a friend,  and  imagine  as  we  flew  past  them  on  the 
road,  that  their  long  arms  were  waving  us  a benevolent 
adieu  ? Thus,  pleased  with  what  we  had  seen  and  expe- 
rienced, and  bearing  away  happy  memories  of  the  coun- 
try and  its  people,  we  went  skimming  over  the  plains  of 
Holland,  past  Utrecht,  where,  in  1713,  after  the  war  of 
the  Spanish  Succession,  the  great  powers  of  Europe  at 
last  solemnly  agreed  to  be  at  peace ; and  past  Arnheim, 
till  we  entered  the  valley  of  the  Rhine,  and  at  length 
crossed  the  frontier  of  Prussia.  At  Oberhausen  we 
struck  upon  the  great  central  line  of  railway  which  runs 
through  the  heart  of  Germany  from  Cologne  to  Berlin, 
and  which  brought  us  at  midnight  to  the  old  town  of 
Hanover.  It  was  Saturday  night,  and  we  welcomed  the 
quiet  of  this  inland  town  as  promising  us  a calm  and 
tranquil  day  of  resti  But  even  here  we  could  not  find 
an  American  Sabbath.  Our  hotel  was  on  a public  square 
near  the  railway  station*  and  the  next  day  we  were  com- 
pelled to  hear  the  noise  of  trains  which  went  thundering 


134 


RUMMER  PICTURES. 


past  at  almost  every  hour.  Germany  has  yet  to  learn 
the  sacred  beauty,  and  the  priceless  blessing  of  a day  of 
perfect  rest  and  solemn  worship. 

Hanover  is  a place  of  some  historical  interest  from  its 
connection  with  England,  which  it  so  long  furnished 
with  sovereigns.  From  this  little  German  capital  came 
the  hopeful  race  of  the  Georges.  The  house  of  Hanover 
is  still  represented  in  the  person  of  Victoria.  We  vis- 
ited the  old  palace  of  Herrenhausen,  which  Mr.  Thack- 
eray has  made  so  familiar  in  his  Lectures  on  the  Four 
Georges,  in  which  he  describes  very  minutely  the  private 
life  of  those  who  lived  here,  before  they  migrated  to 
London — a life  not  at  all  brilliant,  and  sometimes  not 
over  respectable.  The  palace  is  a long,  low  building, 
with  no  pretensions  to  magnificence  or  even  to  taste  in 
its  architecture,  surrounded  by  gardens  laid  out  in  the 
stiff  French  style.  Yet  George  I.,  when  seated  on  the 
throne  of  England,  often  pined  for  its  shaded  walks  and 
its  more  quiet  and  simple  life,  and  perhaps  he  would 
have  been  happier  if  left  in  the  position  for  which  na- 
ture designed  him — that  of  a petty  German  prince — 
instead  of  being  raised  out  of  his  place,  to  fill  a greater 
throne. 

The  present  king  of  Hanover  is  also  a George,  being 
the  fifth  of  the  name.  He  is  the  cousin  of  the  Queen  of 
England,  and  is  entitled  to  sit  in  the  House  of  Lords  as 
the  Duke  of  Cumberland  and  Teviotdale,  although  Han- 
over has  now  no  political  connection  with  Great  Britain, 


HAXOVER. 


135 


but  is  an  independent  kingdom,  ranking  among  the  sec- 
ond class  of  German  States,  along  with  Saxony  and  Ba- 
varia. Though  it  is  not  a very  mighty  dominion,  the 
king  tries  to  make  the  most  of  it.  He  keeps  up  all  the 
emblems  of  sovereignty.  He  has  half  a dozen  palaces, 
and  as  if  that  were  not  enough,  the  queen  is  having 
another  built  for  her  especial  gratification.  But  little 
joy  can  all  this  afford  to  the  king,  who  though  still  a 
young  man,  is  blind ! having  lost  his  sight  by  an  acci- 
dent, some  years  ago.  Thus  does  that  Providence, 
which  holds  with  an  equal  hand  the  scales  of  human 
life,  often  turn  to  barrenness  all  the  splendor  of  human 
glory  by  one  single  privation. 

When  we  were  at  Herrenhausen,  we  were  told  that 
the  king  had  left  a day  or  two  before  for  a pleasure  ex- 
cursion. We  find  it  pretty  often  the  case  when  we  visit 
the  residences  of  royal  personages,  that  the  masters  are 
not  at  home,  and  we  begin  to  think  that  they  are  not  so 
contented  and  happy  in  their  own  houses  as  more  hum- 
ble individuals.  Perhaps  they  may  find  their  royal  life 
after  all  pretty  dull,  since  they  seem  glad  of  any  excuse 
to  escape  from  the  routine  of  a court,  and  to  lead  a less 
constrained,  a more  free,  natural,  and  happy  existence. 
These  German  princes,  especially,  must  have  a pretty 
dull  time  of  it.  They  have  great  titles,  and  the  taste 
•for  a royal  style  of  living,  and  yet  they  are  shut  up  in  a 
little  capital,  with  a petty  court  and  a very  small  reve- 
nue. Ho  wonder  they  try  to  escape  the  ennui  of  their 


136 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


existence  by  spending  a part  of  the  year  in  some  greater 
capital.  In  London  there  is  always  a swarm  of  them, 
who  are  sixth  or  tenth  cousins  to  Prince  Albert,  hang- 
ing round  the  court,  so  that  the  queen  must  be  very 
good  natured  not  to  get  sometimes  a little  tired  of  her 
German  relations. 

How  pleasant  was  it  to  turn  from  the  race  of  royal 
nonentities  to  one  who  was  a monarch  in  the  realms  of 
thought,  and  who  needs  no  title  but  his  own  great  name. 
Hanover  was  the  home  of  Leibnitz.  Here  lived  the 
great  philosopher,  the  Isaac  Newton  of  Germany,  and 
his  plain  dwelling,  which  is  still  pointed  out  in  one  of 
the  streets  of  the  town,  is  far  more  interesting  than  all 
the  palaces  of  the  Georges. 

At  Hanover  we  diverged  from  the  great  high  road  to 
Berlin,  and  took  the  railway  to  Hamburg,  thus  travers- 
ing almost  the  whole  kingdom  of  Hanover.  The  coun- 
try is  everywhere  the  same,  a vast  plain,  flat  as  Flanders 
itself,  though  less  highly  cultivated.  But  thanks  to  rail- 
roads, a dull  region  is  quickly  passed,  and  five  hours 
brought  us  to  the  banks  of  the  Elbe,  which  here  flows 
out  in  a broad,  full  stream  to  the  North  Sea,  and  a 
steamboat  soon  took  us  across  and  landed  us  on  the 
quays  of  Hamburg. 

Why  has  no  traveller  celebrated  the  beauty  of  this 
city  ? I have  read  books  of  travel  almost  by  the  bushel,, 
but  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  seen  Hamburg  named 
except  as  one  of  the  free  towns  of  Germany,  and  as  a 


HAMBURG. 


13 1 


very  important  commercial  city.  Yet  we  find  it  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  cities  we  have  seen  in  Europe.  The 
first  impression  of  a stranger  is  directly  the  opposite  of 
this.  We  landed  in  the  lower  town,  which  is  built  along 
'the  river,  and  directly  found  ourselves  in  a maze  of  nar- 
row streets,  overhung  by  old,  dilapidated  houses,  that 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  standing  since  the  flood,  and 
as  if  now  their  last  hour  had  come.  Surely,  we  thought, 
this  is  a city  of  desolation.  Ruined,  rotten,  rickety, 
worm-eaten,  plague-smitten — such  were  the  complimen- 
tary epithets  which  Ave  were  prepared  to  bestow  upon 
the  miserable  place,  when,  after  riding  half  an  hour, 
we  began  to  ascend  to  the  upper  town,  and  presently 
emerged,  upon  what  seemed  to  us  glorious  as  a mount 
of  vision,  shining  bright  and  resplendent  over  the  dark- 
ness of  the  lower  regions.  Here  we  found  all  that  can 
make  a city  beautiful — broad  streets  and  squares  lined 
with  splendid  buildings,  and,  in  the  centre  of  all,  as  the 
gem  in  the  crown,  the  clear  and  sparkling  eye  of  the 
picture — a crystal  lake  of  water. 

Hamburg,  indeed,  owes  its  great  prosperity  to  com- 
merce, and  is  to  be  considered,  first  of  all,  as  a commer- 
cial city.  It  is  a free  town,  having  an  independent 
political  existence,  and  managing  its  own  affairs.  It  has 
no  king,  and  gets  along  quite  as  well  without  one  as  its 
neighbor  Hanover  with  its  royal  race — to  judge  from 
the  appearance  of  the  two  cities,  I should  say,  much  bet- 
ter. Hamburg  is  a free  city  in  another  sense.  It  en- 


138 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


joys  almost  entire  free  trade.  The  duties  levied  upon 
imports  are  very  light,  compared  with  tHose  of  most 
States.  Thus,  few  restrictions  are  placed  upon  com- 
merce, andjt  is  left  free  to  expand  according  to  the  nat- 
ural laws  of  trade.  The  city  is  admirably  situated  for 
commerce  with  all  parts  of  the  world.  Standing  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Elbe,  it  is  easily  accessible  from  the 
sea,  while  its  position  makes  it  the  natural  place  of  im- 
port and  export  for  the  north  of  Germany.  Its  prosper- 
ity will  be  greatly  advanced  by  the  railroads  which 
radiate  from  it  into  the  interior,  and  steamships  which 
connect  it  with  foreign  countries.  A line  has  recently 
been  established  between  Hamburg  and  New  York, 
'which  I hear  spoken  of  in  high  terms.  We  saw  one  of 
the  ships,  the  Saxonia,  lying  at  her  wharf,  as  we  crossed 
the  Elbe,  and  a magnificent  vessel  she  is,  built  of  iron. 
I hope  the  line  will  be  well  sustained,  and  will  thus  be- 
come a permanent  one.  It  ought  to  be,  at  least,  as  suc- 
cessful as  that  to  Bremen,  since  Hamburg  is  a much 
more  important  city.  Such  a line  would  be  a benefit  to 
us,  as  it  would  furnish  another  direct  communication 
with  the  north  of  Europe.  It  will  also  be  a very  desira- 
ble route  for  travellers,  who  may  wish  to  come  direct  to 
the  continent  without  stopping  in  England.  I commend 
it  to  students  who  are  coming  to  the  German  universi- 
ties, and  to  clergymen  who  wish  to  study  economy  in  a 
European  tour.  After  seeing  Hamburg,  I feel  doubly 
desirous  that  New  York  should  have  a direct  and  fre- 


BEAUTY  OF  THE  CITY. 


139 


quent  communication  with  a city  so  large,  prosperous, 
and  beautiful. 

The  peculiar  beauty  of  Hamburg  it  owes  to  the  small 
river  Alster,  which  flows  through  the  towm  to  empty 
itself  into  the  Elbe.  By  placing  a dam  across  this 
stream,  the  waters  have  been  inclosed  in  a large  basin, 
which  is  walled  in  by  quays  of  stone,  and  is  overlooked 
by  a long  range  of  stately  edifices,  so  that  the  Alster- 
damm  designates  the  most  beautiful  part  of  Hamburg. 
Beyond  the  basin  thus  inclosed,  the  waters  flow  back 
into  a broad  sheet  or  lake  extending  several  miles,  and 
on  its  borders  are  the  country  seats  of  the  merchant 
princes  of  Hamburg.  We  have  just  returned  from  a 
ride  along  the  shore.  It  was  the  hour  when  men  of 
business  were  returned  from  the  city,  and  at  every  house 
we  passed,  the  family  were  sitting  on  the  green  lawn 
before  their  door  taking  their  tea  in  the  open  air,  enjoy- 
ing the  long  twilight  and  the  delicious  coolness  which 
came  from  the  water,  and  which  tempered  the  heat  of 
the  warm  summer’s  day.  After  ascending  the  lake  for 
several  miles,  we  crossed  it  in  a boat,  to  come  back  to 
the  city  on  the  other  bank.  The  sun  wras  setting,  and 
the  golden  clouds  were  reflected  in  the  polished  mirror 
beneath.  As  we  approached  the  shore,  we  heard  the 
sound  of  music  from  a garden  where  happy  groups  were 
sitting  under  the  trees.  We  have  come  back  to  the 
Crown  Prince  hotel,  which  is  situated  on  the  Alster- 
damm,  and  from  our  windows  we  look  down  on  a 


140 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


scene  of  enchantment.  Below  us  the  water  reflects  a 
thousand  stars,  and  boats  filled  with  gay  parties  are 
shooting  across  it  in  every  direction.  I hear  the  dip  of 
their  oars  mingling  with  shouts  of  laughter  and  music. 
At  such  an  hour  as  this  all  the  world  seems  happy. 
Care  and  grief  are  banished  far  away.  Sad  is  it  that 
upon  such  fair  visions  the  morn  must  break ; the  cold, 
grey  light  of  reality  must  rest  on  scenes  of  sorrow  and 
of  death ; and  human  passions  will  wake  again  to  mar 
the  face  of  the  earth  which  the  Creator  has  made  so 
divine. 


CHAPTER  X 


Denmark — Excursion  in  Holstein  and  Schleswig — Life  in  a 
Danish  Parsonage. 

Copenhagen,  May  27,  1858. 

It  was  a bright  summer’s  morning  on  which  we  left  the 
fair  city  of  Hamburg,  and  drove  across  the  line  to  the  old 
Danish  town  of  Altona.  This  is  the  gateway  to  the 
duchies  of  Holstein  and  Schleswig,  which  have  figured  so 
much  in  European  politics  for  the  last  few  years.  As  we 
entered  these  provinces,  so  lately  the  scene  of  bitter 
strife,  our  first  impression  was  that  they  were  hardly 
worth  fighting  for.  The  railroad  runs  along  a high  and 
sterile  ridge  which  extends  through  the  whole  Peninsula. 
As  seen  from  the  route  the  country  is  a vast  plain,  and 
that  not  rich  and  cultivated,  like  Holland,  but  a bleak 
and  barren  moor,  such  as  in  Scotland  would  be  thought 
fit  only  for  the  grazing  of  sheep.  At  present  its  chief 
value  seems  to  be,  like  the  bogs  in  Ireland,  to  furnish  the 
inhabitants  with  fuel.  All  along  the  road,  the  turf  is 
cut  up,  like  clay  for  the  limekiln,  generally  in  square 
pieces,  like  brick,  and  piled  up  in  rows,  to  dry  in  the 
sun  ; and  this  is  the  protection  of  the  people  against  the 

141 


142 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


rigors  of  their  northern  winters.  But  how  desolate  was 
the  scene  presented  to  the  eye  ! Coming  out  of  a busy 
city,  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  entered  at  once  into  the 
solitude  and  silence  of  the  desert.  One  could  not  feel 
more  lonely  even  in  the  Campagna  around  Rome,  where 
the  only  living  object  that  meets  the  eye  is  the  shepherd 
and  his  flock,  and  the  only  sound  the  barking  of  the 
watch-dog. 

Yet,  like  the  Campagna,  these  desolate  moors  have 
once  been  populous  with  men.  Over  these  silent  plains 
have  passed  savage  hordes,  which  shook  the  earth  with 
their  tread.  In  the  north  of  the  Peninsula  lies  the  Pro- 
vince of  Jutland,  which  was  the  home  of  the  terrible 
Cimbri,  who,  with  other  Baltic  tribes,  once  ravaged 
France  and  Spain,  and  carried  terror  to  the  gates  of 
Rome.  In  the  Museum  of  Northern  Antiquities  at 
Copenhagen,  may  be  seen  the  imjflements  of  war  of  this 
savage  race.  Here,  too,  were  celebrated  the  rites  of 
Odin,  centuries  before  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem  of 
Judea.  And  here,  at  a later  day,  came  another  con- 
queror from  the  south.  Yonder  town  on  the  right  was 
founded  by  Charlemagne. 

N or  is  this  country  now  so  uninhabited  as  it  seems. 
Off  from  the  line  of  the  railroad,  if  you  turn  to  either 
side,  the  country  is  of  surpassing  fertility  and  richness. 
Nearer  to  the  coast,  are  many  towns  of  ancient  date,  and 
some  of  a present  commercial  importance.  Kiel  is  one 
of  the  principal  ports  in  the  Baltic.  It  was  the  render 


DENMARK. 


143 


vous  of  the  English  fleet  in  the  late  war,  before  it  pro- 
ceeded to  Cronstadt. 

The  population  throughout  Holstein  and  the  southern 
part  of  Schleswig  is  largely  German,  and  it  was  the  con- 
flict of  the  German  and  Danish  elements,  which,  after 
the  revolutions  of  1848,  broke  out  into  such  fierce  hostil- 
ity, that  this  peaceful  country  was  plunged  into  all  the 
horrors  of  civil  war.  The  German  party  was  supported 
by  the  sympathy  and  secret  aid  of  Prussia,  and  this  pro- 
longed the  contest  for  three  years ; nor  was  it  terminated 
until  several  pitched  battles  had  been  fought,  in  the  last 
of  which  were  brought  into  the  field,  counting  both 
armies,  fifty  thousand  men,  and  nearly  five  thousand  were 
killed  and  wounded ! This  ended  the  war,  and  reestab- 
lished the  authority  of  Denmark  over  its  rebellious  pro- 
vinces. The  fortified  town  of  Rendsburg,  through 
which  we  passed,  was  the  chief  point  of  the  Holsteiners. 
It  changed  hands  several  times,  and  was  not  finally 
secured  to  Denmark  until  the  last  decisive  battle.  As 
we  traversed  the  country,  we  heard  many  tales  of  the 
war.  Though  the  fighting  is  ended,  the  difficulty  seems 
not  yet  settled.  Prussia  still  supports  the  cause  of  Hol- 
stein, and  the  question  remains  a subject  of  controversy 
between  Denmark  and  Germany.  It  is  evident  that  the 
fires  of  discontent,  though  subdued,  are  still  smouldering, 
and  in  the  event  of  another  general  revolution  in  Europe, 
would  at  once  break  out  anew. 

From  Altona  a railroad  runs  direct  to  Kiel,  and  a 


144 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 

t ' . ^ 

steamer  crosses  in  a few  hours  to  Korsoer,  from  which 
another  train  takes  you  on  to  Copenhagen.  But  we  had  a 
friend  to  visit  in  the  interior  of  Schleswig,  so  that,  in- 
stead of  turning  off  to  the  coast,  we  kept  on  directly  up 
the  Peninsula.  At  length  the  country  began  to  change, 
the  plains  rising  at  first  into  gentle  slopes,  and  then  into 
wooded  hills.  We  came  to  the  end  of  the  railroad,  and 
then  pursued  our  way  by  diligence  over  hills  and  val- 
leys, skirting  along  the  shores  of  rocky  fiords,  till  we 
brought  up  in  the  little  town  of  Haderslev.  This  is  a 

place  of  some  importance  in  the  province,  but  so  shut 

# 

out  from  the  world,  lying  in  a little  valley,  surrounded 
by  hills,  and  having  a look  so  quain^  and  quiet  that  we 
could  not  have  felt  more  like  strangers  if  we  had  been 
landed  in  Iceland.  Yet  this  remote  and  secluded  spot 
was  the  birthplace  of  the  Danish  monarchy.  Here  four 
hundred  years  ago  (in  1448),  Count  Christian  of  Olden- 
burg, the  first  of  the  now  reigning  dynasty,  was  elected 
king.  For  more  than  two  hundred  years  (till  1660),  the 
crown  continued  to  be  elective.  Yet  his  descendants 
were  always  chosen  as  his  successors,  and  the  same 
family  has  continued  to  this  day  in  uninterrupted  pos- 
session of  the  throne. 

Here  we  slept  in  a little  country  inn.  The  people, 
like  good  honest  folk,  went  to  bed  at  an  early  hour,  and 
all  was  still  in  the  street,  save  the  tramp  of  a solitary 
watchman,  whose  clogs  were  heard  at  regular  intervals 
under  our  windows,  and  who  in  a deep  and  measured 


A DANISH  PARSONAGE. 


145 


tone,  repeated,  “ Eleven  o’clock  has  struck,”  or  “ Twelve 
o’clock  has  struck.”  How  strangely  sounded  that  voice, 
calling  the  midnight  hour!  We  had  not  heard  that 
watchman’s  cry  since  three  years  before  in  Halifax, 
Nova  Scotia ; and  now  it  seemed  as  if  the  voice  that 
had  died  away  on  the  shore  of  another  continent, 
had  found  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  ancient  Scan- 
dinavia. 

We  had  come  into  this  retired  region  to  pay  a visit  to 
a Danish  pastor,  with  whom  we  became  acquainted 
through  his  brother,  whom  we  had  known  in  New  York. 
Four  miles  from  Haderslev,  nestled  among  the  hills,  is 
descried  the  white  tower  of  the  church  of  Vonsbeck, 
and  close  by  it  is  the  parsonage  of  the  pastor  Moller. 
W e took  one  of  the  carriages  of  the  country,  a kind  of 
huge  basket  of  wicker  work,  and  drove  to  his  manse.  It 
is  inclosed  by  a range  of  low  buildings,  which  looked 
like  the  surroundings  of  a farmyard.  We  drove  under 
an  arched  way  into  the  large  court,  and  thought  at  first 
that  we  had  mistaken  the  place,  and  had  invaded  the 
premises  of  one  of  the  rich  farmers  of  the  country.  But 
a cottage  at  the  further  end  of  the  buildings  seemed  to 
mark  the  residence  of  a man  of  taste  and  cultivation, 
and  as  we  approached  inquiringly,  the  pastor  himself  and 
his  wife,  who  were  walking  in  their  garden,  advanced  to 
meet  us,  and  gave  us  the  most  cordial  welcome. 

We  entered  the  parsonage,  and  here  it  was  evident  by 
many  signs,  that  we  were  in  the  home  of  a scholar.  The 

1 


146 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


books  on  the  table  and  the  pictures  on  the  walls,  showed 
the  fondness  for  reading  and  study,  and  the  presence  of 
taste;  while  a large  telescope,  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  indicated  the  man  of  science.  In  the 
number  of  his  wife’s  books  we  found  carefully  treasured 
several  works  of  American  writers,  among  them  the 
“Wide,  Wide  World,”  of  our  excellent  friend  Miss 
Warner.  The  pastor,  knowing  by  instinct  the  point  of 
attraction  for  a brother  minister,  took  me  first  to  his 
library.  After  a long  and  wistful  look  at  its  treasures 
we  returned  to  the  ladies,  and  all  strolled  away  into  the 
garden,  where  a summer-house  on  the  brow  of  a hill 
overlooks  the  country  for  miles  around.  The  view  ex- 
tends along  the  coast,  and  across  the  waters  of  the  Little 
Belt  to  the  island  of  Fione.  The  coast  region  here  re- 
sembles that  of  Norway  (though  on  a scale  less  grand), 
being  indented  with  numerous  inlets,  or  fiords,  so  that 
almost  every  deep  valley  stoops  down  to  the  water’s 
edge.  One  of  these  inlets  flowed  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hill  on  which  we  stood,  and  stretching  along  the  bank 
for  half  a mile  is  a noble  wood,  which  is  a part  of  the 
property  of  the  manse.  One  does  not  find  in  Denmark 
the  dark  forests  of  pine  which  stand  on  Norwegian  hills. 
The  beech  is  the  tree  of  the  country.  This  grove  was 
composed  chiefly  of  beeches,  with  here  and  there  an 
ancient  oak,  or  a white  birch  showing  its  shilling  bark. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  charm  of  this  wood,  which 
seemed  to  unite  all  the  elements  of  beauty — tall  and 


A DANISH  PARSONAGE. 


147 


stately  trees,  with  here  and  there  an  open  glade  to  let  a 
stream  of  light  into  the  darker  depths  of  the  forest,  and 
long  shady  avenues,  which  seemed  made  for  the  retired 
walks  of  the  scholar.  Long  did  we  linger  here,  walking 
under  the  trees,  or  sitting  on  the  mossy  hank  of  the 
stream,  and  talk  of  the  Old  World  and  the  New,  of 
Denmark  and  of  America. 

On  the  edge  of  the  wood,  near  the  Parsonage,  stands 
the  church.  The  pastor  took  us  to  see  it.  It  is  a small 
edifice,  of  stone,  but  with  walls  as  thick  as  if  built  for  a 
fortress.  There  it  has  stood  for  six  hundred  years! 
Generation  after  generation  has  come  over  these  hills 
here  to  worship  God,  and  their  bodies  now  rest  under  its 
shadow.  The  churchyard  is  thickly  strewn  with  graves, 
which  are  not  marked  by  slabs  of  stone,  but  covered  with 
beds  of  flowers,  emblems  of  hope  and  of  the  resurrection. 

The  pastor  gave  us  much  information  in  regard  to  the 
religious  condition  of  Denmark,  its  churches  and  its 
schools.  The  religion  of  the  State  is  Lutheran,  and  the 
people  are  generally  attached  to  the  Protestant  worship. 
Education  also  is  provided  for  by  the  State.  The  whole 
country  is  dotted  with  village  schools.  Every  parish 
has  one  or  more  of  them,  to  which  the  parents  are  required 
by  law  to  send  their  children.  And  it  is  rare  to  find  a 
peasant  who  does  not  know  how  to  read  and  write.  The 
State  also  takes  care  to  provide  a competent  body  of 
teachers.  There  are  five  seminaries  expressly  for  the 
education  of  country  school-masters.  Thus  is  formed  a 


148 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


large  and  highly  respectable  body  of  men.  The  State 
also  adds  to  their  dignity  and  independence  by  setting 
apart  for  them  glebe  lands  and  granting  them  certain 
privileges.  Besides  these  common  schools,  all  the  larger 
towns  have  burgher  schools,  and  Latin  schools,  besides 
their  charity  schools.  At  the  same  time  the  universities 
of  Copenhagen  and  Kiel  provide  for  the  higher  educa- 
tion. 

Thus  the  stream  of  talk  flowed  on  till  the  day  was 
spent,  and  the  sun  setting  over  the  hills  and  the  fad- 
ing twilight,  warned  us  to  return  to  Haderslev  to  pre- 
pare to  resume  our  journey  the  next  morning.  But  the 
kind  pastor  would  hardly  let  us  go.  “We  ought  to 
stay  at  least  a week !”  And  wrhen  at  last  we  were 
forced  to  part,  it  was  more  like  friends  who  had  known 
each  other  from  childhood,  than  as  those  who  never  saw 
each  other’s  faces  till  that  morning.  The  ladies  em- 
braced like  sisters,  and  after  we  were  seated  in  the  car- 
riage, the  little  ones  were  brought  out  to  be  handed  up 
to  receive  their  kiss,  and  we  rode  away  with  delightful 
remembrances  of  a day  in  a Danish  parsonage. 

This  glimpse  of  the  interior  of  a manse  in  Denmark, 
has  given  me  the  most  favorable  impression  of  the  pas- 
tors and  churches  of  this  country.  Here  is  a man 
of  education  and  refinement,  who  lives  afar  from  the 
great  world,  yet  who  is  perfectly  contented  and  happy, 
free  from  envy  and  pride,  and  with  no  ambition  but  to 
do  good  to  the  simple  people  who  live  among  these  hills, 


A DANISH  PARSONAGE. 


149 


and  who  look  up  to  him  as  a father.  Such  is  the  moral 
beauty  and  dignity  of  a true  Christian  pastor.  Long 
shall  we  remember  this  day’s  visit,  and  the  names  of  Pas- 
tor Moller  and  his  wife  will  be  warmly  cherished  by  their 
friends  in  America. 


CHAPTER  XI 


The  Island  of  Fione — Copenhagen — Beauty  of  the  City  and  its 
Environs — Decline  of  Denmark  as  an  European  Power — At- 
tack of  Nelson  in  1801 — Bombardment  in  1807 — Loss  of  Nor- 
way— The  Country  still  rich  in  the  Elements  of  Prosperity — 
Points  of  Sympathy  with  America — Settlement  of  the  Sound 
Dues  Question — The  King — Hopes  of  Scandinavian  Unity — 
Thorwaldsen. 

Copenhagen,  July  28,  1858. 

The  next  morning  after  our  visit  to  the  Danish  pastor, 
we  left  the  quiet  town  of  Haderslev,  sleeping  in  its  val- 
ley, and  rode  over  the  hills  to  the  shore  of  the  Little  Belt, 
where  a steamer  was  waiting  to  convey  passengers  across 
to  the  island  of  Fione.  This  island  is  forty  miles  broad, 
and  is  one  of  the  richest  parts  of  the  kingdom.  As  we 
rode  over  it  on  a warm  summer’s  day,  the  whole  land 
seemed  smiling  with  plenty.  On  every  side  were  seen 
rich  farms  and  peaceful  villages.  “ The  valleys  are  cov- 
ered over  with  corn,  they  shout  for  joy,  they  also  sing.” 
W e saw  no  princely  estates,  nothing  like  the  palaces  and 
parks  of  England,  but  there  was  an  appearance  of  gen- 
eral comfort,  of  an  abundance  of  the  necessaries  of  life. 
We  saw  no  great  wealth  on  the  one  hand,  and  no  squalid 
poverty  on  the  other.  Everywhere  was  industry,  com- 

150 


THE  ISLAND  OF  FIONE. 


151 


fort,  and  content.  It  seemed  a stout,  hale,  and  happy 
country,  tenanted  hy  a manly  and  self-respecting  race. 
We  passed  through  several  towns,  the  largest  of  which 
was  Odensee,  whose  ancient  date  is  signified  in  the  very 
name  it  bears — which  is  derived  from  Odin,  the  old 
Scandinavian  deity.  Indeed,  this  mythological  personage 
is  said  to  have  lived  in  this  place,  and  his  tumulus  is  still 
shown  outsido  the  town.  No  doubt  he  did  live  here  as 
much  as  anywhere.  A fact  somewhat  more  authentic, 
and  quite  as  interesting  to  us,  w^as  that  here  was  born 
Hans  Christian  Andersen,  the  celebrated  Danish  writer, 
and  from  these  streets  he  sallied  forth,  a poor  boy,  and 
made  his  way  to  Copenhagen,  where,  after  years  of  labor 
and  discouragement,  he  at  length  rose  to  fame. 

The  island  of  Fione  is  belted  on  both  sides — having 
the  Little  Belt  on  one  side  and  the  Great  Belt  on  the 
other.  These  waters  are  famous  as  the  only  entrance  to 
the  Baltic,  except  by  the  Sound,  past  the  guns  of  Cro- 
nenburg,  near  Elsinore.  The  English  fleet  designed  to 
attack  Cronstadt  in  the  last  wTar,  came  down  the  Great 
Belt.  These  Belts  have  generally  been  a protection  to 
Denmark,  like  the  Channel  to  England.  But  not  always. 
Just  two  hundred  years  ago,  in  1657-8,  the  winter  was 
so  severe  that  the  Little  Belt  and  the  Great  Belt  were 
frozen  over,  and  Charles  X.,  of  Sweden,  crossed  them 
both  upon  the  ice,  wTith  his  whole  army,  infantry,  cav- 
alry, and  artillery,  on  his  way  to  attack  Copenhagen. 
The  steamer  which  took  us  over,  crossed  in  two  hours, 


152 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


from  Nyborg  to  Korsoer,  from  which  -there  is  a railway 
across  Zealand  to  Copenhagen.  We  reached  the  capital 
the  same  evening. 

We  had  looked  forward  with  much  interest  to  our 
visit  to  Copenhagen.  Nor  is  that  interest  diminished 
now  that  we  walk  its  streets.  We  find  indeed  a city  not 
very  imposing  in  its  external  appearance.  It  has  suf- 
fered too  much  by  siege  and  bombardment  to  retain 
many  marks  of  grandeur.  The  houses,  being  built  only 
of  brick,  stuccoed,  have  a plain  and  comfortable  look, 
but  are  by  no  means  magnificent.  Yet  Copenhagen  is, 
next  to  St.  Petersburg,  the  greatest  of  the  northern 
capitals.  It  has  a hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabit- 
ants, and  is  surrounded  by  fortifications  five  miles  in  ex- 
tent. It  has  a few  stately  public  edifices.  From  our 
room  in  the  Hotel  Royal  we  look  across  to  the  king’s 
palace,  which  is  one  of  the  most  extensive  royal  resi- 
dences in  Europe.  Here  is  a large  gallery  of  paintings. 
By  the  side  of  the  .palace  are  the  principal  public  build- 
ings of  the  capital — those  occupied  by  the  Departments 
of  Government,  the  Exchange,  and  what  is  of  more  inte- 
rest than  all,  the  Museum  of  Thorwaldsen. 

But  the  chief  beauty  of  Copenhagen,  it  owes  to  its 
situation  and  its  charming  environs.  Standing  on  the 
shores  of  the  Baltic,  its  tall  spires  may  be  seen  from  a 
ship’s  deck  twenty  miles  distant.  Hardly  any  city  that 
we  have  visited  commands  more  beautiful  views.  The 
palace  of  Fredericksberg,  on  a hill  two  miles  from  the 


ENVIRONS  OF  COPENHAGEN. 


153 


town,  overlooks  a wide  and  beautiful  prospect  of  land  and 
wrater.  I know  not  where  to  point  out  a more  enchant- 
ing drive  than  along  the  Sound  from  Copenhagen  to  El- 
sinore. For  the  whole  distance  the  shores  of  Sweden 
are  in  sight.  Midway  between  the  two  kingdoms  is  a 
little  island  on  which  Tycho  Brahe  erected  his  observa- 
tory, and  from  which  he  wratched  the  constellations  in 
the  cold  northern  heavens.  One  afternoon  we  devoted 
to  an  excursion  along  the  Danish  shore.  A great  num- 
ber of  ships  were  passing  up  and  down  the  Sound.  We 
whiled  away  an  hour  at  a watering-place  which  is  a sum- 
mer resort  of  the  fashionable  public,  and  next  drove  under 
the  windows  of  a country  box  of  the  king,  just  as  a mili- 
tary band  were  playing  to  soothe  the  royal  ear,  and 
returned  through  the  Deer  Park,  a magnificent  forest  of 
beech,  'which  is  a hunting-ground  for  the  Court,  and  where 
every  year,  in  June  or  July,  the  people  of  city  and  coun- 
try pitch  their  tents  for  a grand  national  fair. 

Just  at  present,  Copenhagen  itself  is  dull.  As  it  is 
midsummer,  the  Court  is  absent,  and  the  hotels  of  the 
foreign  ministers,  and  the  town-houses  of  the  Danish 
nobility  are  closed,  and  all  are  spending  the  hot  months 
at  their  seats  in  the  country,  so  that  we  see  nothing  of 
the  fashion  of  Denmark.  The  only  gaiety  manifest  is 
that  of  the  people  at  the  suburban  gardens  of  Tivoli  and 
the  Alhambra.  But  in  winter,  when  the  court  is  in  town 
and  the  National  Diet  in  session,  and  the  nobility  flock 
to  the  capital,  the  streets  present  a more  animated  spec- 

1* 


154 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


tacle,  and  the  saloons  are  more  brilliant.  The  Danes  aro 
generally  intelligent,  and  the  educated  classes  remarka- 
bly well  informed.  The  university,  with  its  twelve  hun- 
dred students,  of  course  draws  around  it  a number  of 
learned  professors  and  literary  men,  and  these,  with  the 
wealthier  citizens,  and  the  noble  families,  and  officers  of 
the  government,  and  artists  and  authors,  form  altogether 
a very  charming  society. 

During  the  week  we  have  spent  in  Copenhagen  we 
have  been  accustomed  to  take  our  evening  walk  along 
the  bastions,  which  girdle  the  city  on  the  side  of  land 
and  sea.  Here  we  have  strolled  at  sunset,  musing  like 
Hamlet  the  Dane  upon  the  walls  of  Elsinore.  As  we 
looked  off  upon  the  Baltic,  of  which  this  city  was  queen, 
as  Venice  was  queen  of  the  Adriatic,  and  surveyed  the 
heavy  ramparts,  and  marked  the  long  lines  of  cannon, 
now  grim  and  silent,  and  watched  the  sentinel  pacing 
his  round,  we  could  not  but  fall  into  reflections  on  the 
former  greatness  and  present  decline  of  this  once  mighty 
northern  power. 

Denmark  is  no  longer  the  giant  that  she  once  was, 
when  northern  vikings  were  the  terror  of  the  sea,  and 
Danes  were  the  conquerors  of  England.  For  centuries 
she  continued  one  of  the  great  kingdoms  of  the  North. 
But  within  the  last  hundred  years  she  has  been  cast  into 
the  shade  by  monarchies  of  a later  date,  but  of  far 
greater  power.  Since  the  time  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
Prussia  has  risen  to  the  first  rank  of  European  States ; 


DECLINE  OF  DENMARK. 


155 


and  since  the  reign  of  Peter  the  Great,  Russia  has 
loomed  up  in  vast  proportions,  and  these  two  empires 
have  overshadowed  all  other  powers  in  the  north  of 
Europe.  Still  Denmark  would  have  remained  a very 
respectable  kingdom,  but  for  two  disasters,  which 
resulted  from  the  wars  of  Napoleon — the  loss  of  her 
navy,  and  the  loss  of  Norway. 

It  is  sad  to  think  that  the  heaviest  blows  at  the  pros- 
perity of  this  Protestant  nation  should  have  been  struck 
by  Protestant  England.  Twice  in  this  century  have 
hostile  armaments  appeared  in  these  -waters.  In  1801, 
the  object  was  to  break  the  famous  league  of  the  powers 
of  the  Baltic,  known  as  “the  Armed  Neutrality,”  in 
which  Russia,  Prussia,  Denmark,  and  Sweden  combined 
to  protect  their  commerce  against  the  pretensions  and 
vexations  of  British  ships,  and  to  maintain  their  own 
rights  as  neutrals  in  the  great  war  then  raging  in  Europe. 
This  was  regarded  by  England  as  an  attack  upon  her 
maritime  supremacy,  and  to  sustain  her  prestige  and 
power  on  the  seas,  she  felt  it  necessary  to  strike  a 
sudden  blow  at  this  northern  confederacy,  and  Nelson, 
whose  fame  had  begun  to  fill  the  world  since  he  won 
the  battle  of  the  Nile,  led  an  expedition  against 
Copenhagen.  The  shores  of  Sweden  and  Denmark 
never  saw  such  a sight  as  on  the  day  when  that 
mighty  armament  came  down  the  waters  of  the  Sound. 
The  action  which  followed  was  one  of  the  most  fearful 
engagements  on  record,  and  the  hardly-earned  victory  is 


156 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


counted  among  the  greatest  naval  achievements  of  Great 
Britain.  You  remember  the  stirring  ode  of  Campbell 
on  the  battle  of  the  Baltic : 

“Of  Nelson  and  the  North, 

Sing  the  glorious  day’s  renown. 

When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth, 

All  the  might  of  Denmark’s  crown.” 

Well  may  they  boast  of  their  victory,  for  never  were 
they  matched  against  a braver  enemy,  or  met  with  valor 
more  equal  to  their  own.  For  four  hours  the  battle 
raged.  So  terrible  was  the  Danish  fire  that  Sir  Hyde 
Parker,  the  chief  in  command,  signalled  to  the  English 
fleet  to  withdraw,  and  nothing  but  the  obstinacy  of  Nel- 
son, who  refused  to  be  beaten,  and  fought  on  against 
orders,  finally  carried  the  day.  Nelson  himself  felt  the 
highest  admiration  for  the  valor  of  his  enemy.  lie  de- 
clared that  he  had  never  seen  anything  like  it  before. 
He  afterwards  told  the  Crown  Prince  that  he  had  been 
in  over  a hundred  engagements,  but  in  none  to  be  com- 
pared to  this.  Even  the  battle  of  the  Nile  was  less 
awful.  lie  said,  “ The  French  fought  bravely,  but  they 
could  not  have  stood  for  one  hour  the  fight  which  the 
Danes  had  supported  for  four.” 

I find  that  the  Danes  themselves  do  not  regard  this  by 
any  means  as  an  unworthy  defeat,  but  as  a battle  in  which 
the  glory  was  equally  divided.  Certainly,  if  Denmark 
lost  her  ships  and  men,  she  lost  no  honor  on  that  day. 


ATTACK  OF  NELSON. 


157 


It  was  with  no  feeling  of  English  pride  that  here  on 
the  spot,  we  recalled  that  dreadful  scene,  but  with  equal 
admiration  for  the  brave  men  of  both  nations,  and  with 
sorrow  for  the  unnatural  strife  which  arrayed  them 
against  each  other.  From  the  island  of  Amah,  we 
looked  along  the  line  of  the  Danish  batteries,  and  out 
upon  the  roadstead  where  lay  the  English  fleet,  and  then 
turned  away  sadly  to  the  Naval  Cemetery,  where  a plain 
obelisk,  hewn  out  of  a single  block  of  Norwegian  mar- 
ble, marks  the  place  of  the  dead.  It  bears  this  simple 
inscription : 

“ They  fell  for  their  country,  April  2,  1801.” 

Beneath  which  is  written  : 

“ The  gratitude  of  their  fellow-citizens  erected  this  monument.” 

It  is  surrounded  by  oaks  and  pines,  which  wave  mourn- 
fully in  the  northern  wind. 

Campbell  bade  us  remember  the  fallen  heroes : 

“Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 
Full  many  a fathom  deep.” 

And  we  did  think  with  honor  of  the  brave  men  whose 
forms  decay,  side  by  side,  beneath  the  waters  of  the 
Baltic — brothers  in  death,  who  should  have  been  bro- 
thers in  life. 

But  the  victory  of  Nelson  was  not  the  greatest  blow 
dealt  by  England  to  the  power  of  Denmark.  Six  years 
later  it  wTas  repeated,  with  still  more  tremendous  effect. 


158 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Again  the  British  cabinet  was  haunted  with  the  fear  of  a 
northern  confederacy.  Napoleon  had  become  more  for- 
midable than  ever.  Master  of  southern  and  central  Eu- 
rope, he  was  now  ruler  of  the  north  by  the  victorious 
termination  of  the  war  with  Russia.  A treaty  had  been 
concluded  at  Tilsit,  upon  which  there  sprang  up  a sud- 
den intimacy,  and  almost  romantic  attachment  between 
Napoleon  and  Alexander.  This  foreboded  new  dangers 
for  England.  If  she  had  not  been  secure  when  she  had 
Russia  for  an  ally,  what  was  her  position  now  that  Rus- 
sia had  gone  over  to  the  side  of  her  enemy  ? The  gen- 
eral terms  of  the  treaty  of  Tilsit  soon  became  known 
throughout  Europe,  but  it  was  supposed  that  there  were 
other  secret  articles,  by  which  the  two  emperors  bound 
themselves  to  support  each  other,  both  in  the  east  and 
the  west — Alexander  in  his  designs  upon  Finland  and 
Turkey,  and  Napoleon  in  his  war  in  Spain,  and  against 
England.  Thus  they  would  virtually  divide  the  empire 
of  the  continent.  With  all  Europe  at  their  feet,  it  was 
designed  to  unite  the  naval  forces  of  the  continent  in  a 
combined  attack  upon  England.  France  could  furnish 
sixty  ships  of  the  line,  Spain  forty,  Portugal  ten,  Russia 
twenty-five,  and  Sweden,  Holland  and  Denmark  each 
fifteen,  thus  making,  in  all,  one  hundred  and  eighty  line- 
of-battle  ships — a force  against  which  the  whole  English 
navy  could  not  stand.  Had  this  gigantic  scheme  been 
carried  out,  the  appearance  of  such  an  Armada  off  the 
English  coast  would  have  threatened  Britain  with  a 


SECOND  ENGLISH  EXPEDITION. 


159 


danger  greater  than  any  since  that  of  Spam  was  seen 
bearing  down  the  Channel. 

Such  was  the  famous  northern  confederacy  which  rose 
as  a thunder-cloud  from  the  waters  of  the  Baltic,  and 
threatened  to  burst  on  the  English  shores.  Not  a mo- 
ment was  to  be  lost  in  breaking  this  formidable  alliance. 
Again  another  armament,  greater  than  before — includ- 
ing twenty-seven  ships  of  the  line,  with  twenty  thousand 
land  troops  on  board — set  sail  for  the  Baltic.  As  yet 
war  had  not  been  declared,  and  the  expedition  came 
with  a demand  which  was  designed  to  avoid  conflict.  It 
was  that  the  whole  Danish  fleet  should  be  surrendered 
to  England ! not  as  the  prize  of  war,  but  as  a pledge  of 
peace — a security  that  it  should  not  be  employed  against 
her — in  which  case  England  engaged,  that  at  the  conclu- 
sion of  a general  peace,  it  should  be  returned  safely  and 
with  all  its  appointments  complete.  A proposal  so  hu- 
miliating to  the  pride  of  Denmark,  called  forth  an  uni- 
versal burst  of  indignation,  and  all  classes,  from  the 
Crown  Prince  to  the  humblest  subject,  prepared  for 
resistance.  They  had  no  allies  to  look  to  for  support. 
A French  army  had  advanced  into  Holstein,  but  the 
British  cruisers  in  the  Great  Belt  effectually  prevented 
any  troops  crossing  to  Zealand,  and  the  Danes  were  left 
to  fight  their  battles  alone.  But  the  spirit  of  the  nation 
rose  with  the  danger.  They  acted  as  a brave  and  high- 
spirited  people,  scorning  to  yield  when  the  enemy  was 
at  their  gates. 


ICO 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Immediately  the  British  army  landed  and  began  to 
invest  the  city.  The  chief  command  was  in  Lord  Cath* 
cart,  but  he  had  an  efficient  aid  in  that  military  genius 
which  was  soon  to  become  the  idol  of  the  British  army. 
As  in  the  former  attack  upon  Copenhagen,  Nelson,  the 
pride  of  the  English  navy,  added  to  his  fame,  so  in  this, 
Wellington,  who  had  already  fought  in  India,  was  first 
to  gain  an  European  reputation.  The  batteries  were 
mounted  with  the  most  formidable  cannon,  and  then  fol- 
lowed all  the  horrors  of  a bombardment.  For  three 
days  and  nights  a storm  of  fire  poured  upon  the  devoted 
city.  The  historian  Alison  thus  portrays  the  fearful 
scene : 

“ The  inhabitants  sustained  with  heroic  resolution  the 
flaming  tempest,  and  all  classes  were  indefatigable  in 
their  endeavors  to  carry  water  to  the  quarters  where  the 
city  had  taken  fire ; but  in  spite  of  all  their  efforts,  the 
conflagration  spread  with  frightful  rapidity,  and  at 
length,  a great  magazine  of  wood,  and  the  lofty  steeple 
of  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  took  fire,  and  the  flames, 
curling  to  a prodigious  height  up  its  wooden  pinnacles, 
illuminated  the  whole  heavens,  and  threw  a lurid  light 
over  all  the  fleet  and  army  of  the  besiegers.  With 
speechless  anxiety  the  trembling  citizens  wratched  the 
path  of  the  burning  projectiles  through  the  air,  while 
the  British  soldiers  and  sailors  from  afar  beheld  the  hea- 
vens tracked  by  innumerable  stars,  which  seemed  to 
realize  more  than  the  fabled  splendors  of  Oriental 


LOSS  OF  THE  DANISH  NAVY. 


161  , 


fireworks.  At  length  the  obvious  clanger  of  the  total 
destruction  of  the  city,  by  the  progress  of  the  flames, 
overcame  the  firmness  of  General  Peymann,  to  whom 
the  prince-royal  had  delegated  the  command,  and  a flag 
of  truce  appeared  at  the  British  outposts  to  treat  for  a 
capitulation.” 

The  battle  was  over,  and  the  British  troops  entered 
the  city  as  victors,  but  it  was  over  a scene  of  desolation. 
One-eighth  part  of  Copenhagen  was  laid  in  ashes.  In  a 
few  weeks  the  army  evacuated  the  city,  and  the  fleet 
returned  to  England,  taking  with  it  the  splendid  prize 
of  the  whole  Danish  navy — eighteen  ships  of  the  line, 
and  fifteen  frigates,  besides  other  vessels  of  war.  That 
was  a dark  day  for  Copenhagen.  It  was  with  bitter, 
manly  tears,  that  the  high-spirited  Danes  lined  the  quays 
and  saw  that  magnificent  fleet  sail  out  of  the  harbor,  and 
bear  away  through  the  Sound  never  to  return. 

This  expedition  produced  a great  sensation  all  over 
Europe.  It  was  denounced  as  a flagrant  violation  of  the 
rights  of  nations.  Certainly  it  was  an  extreme  measure, 
which  nothing  could  justify  but  an  absolute  necessity — 
a necessity  of  self-preservation,  which  could  only  be  ob- 
tained by  this  terrible  sacrifice.  But  whatever  the  rea- 
sons of  state  which  excused  this  daring  step,  it  was  a 
great  disaster  to  the  power  of  Denmark,  and  one  from 
which  she  has  never  recovered. 

A few  years  later,  and  yet  another  blow  was  struck  at 
the  power  and  rank  of  this  ancient  kingdom.  But  now 


. 162 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


it  was  not  dealt  by  the  arm  of  Britain,  but  by  the  com- 
bined force  of  all  the  allied  powers.  To  punish  Den- 
mark for  her  fidelity  to  Napoleon,  she  was  forced  in 
1814  to  cede  the  whole  of  Norway  to  her  rival,  Sweden. 
It  might,  indeed,  seem  more  natural  that  N orway  should 
be  united  to  a country  which  lies  by  her  side  through- 
out the  whole  length  of  the  Scandinavian  Peninsula. 
But  the  Norwegians  are  more  closely  related  to  the 
Danes  than  to  the  Swedes,  by  race  and  language,  and 
historical  traditions.  The  Danish  and  modern  Norwe- 
gian language  are  the  same.  Thus  the  people  are  one 
people,  and  the  countries  ought  to  be  parts  of  one  king- 
dom. With  the  loss  of  Norway,  the  humiliation  of  Den- 
mark was  complete.  Her  colonial  possessions  are  now 
reduced  to  the  frozen  shores  of  Iceland  and  Greenland, 
to  the  Faroe  Islands,  and  to  the  small  islands  of  St. 
Thomas,  Santa  Cruz  and  St.  John,  in  the  West  Indies. 
Her  population  numbers  altogether  but  two  millions  and 
a half.  Of  course  she  can  no  longer  aspire  to  rank  with 
the  first  class  of  European  powers,  but  must  take  her 
place  in  the  second  grade  of  States,  along  with  Hano- 
ver, Saxony,  and  Bavaria. 

Still,  though  so  greatly  crippled,  the  power  of  Den- 
mark is  not  wholly  broken.  Whoever  goes  through  the 
arsenal  at  Copenhagen,  and  surveys  the  large  park  of 
artillery,  and  the  glittering  array  of  swords  and  bayo- 
nets, enough  for  one  of  the  great  standing  armies  of  Eu- 
rope, will  see  that  with  such  means  of  defence  in  the 


THE  COUNTRY  STILL  RICH  AND  HAPPY. 


1G3 


hands  of  a brave  people,  Denmark  can  still  present  a 
formidable  front.  In  the  late  war  in  Holstein — even 
though  divided  against  herself,  with  a populous  province 
in  open  rebellion,  backed  by  the  secret  aid  of  Germany, 
she  kept  a large  army  in  the  field,  and  at  last  came  off 
victorious.  Her  navy,  too,  though  greatly  reduced,  is 
still  by  no  means  despicable.  The  Danes  are  natural 
seamen.  With  a country  surrounded  by  the  waves, 
they  early  learn  to  venture  on  the  deep.  Their  fisheries 
still  nurture  a hardy  race.  A large  number  of  the  sailors 
in  the  English  navy,  and  in  our  own,  are  Danes.  These 
bold  mariners,  though  now  scattered  over  all  the  oceans 
of  the  world,  form  a maritime  force  in  reserve,  that  in  case 
of  need  might  rally  for  the  defence  of  their  island  home. 

But  if  this  be  not  a great  nation,  it  may  still  be  a very 
happy  one.  And  such  I believe  it  is.  We  have  been 
equally  gratified  with  the  appearance  of  the  country  and 
of  the  people,  and  that  after  a very  good  opportunity  of 
seeing  all  parts  of  the  kingdom.  The  country  itself 
is  rich.  The  land  is  highly  cultivated.  The  opening 
of  railroads  gives  a new  spring  to  industry  in  all  parts 
of  the  kingdom,  and  ships  still  fill  the  ports,  and  Danish 
sails  whiten  the  Baltic  and  the  neighboring  seas.  The 
elements  of  public  happiness  are  very  widely  diffused, 
and  we  reflect  wdth  satisfaction  that,  if  the  period  of 
glory  is  past,  it  has  been  succeeded  by  an  age  of  peace 
and  by  general  prosperity,  and  by  a glory  of  a different 
kind,  by  distinction  in  arts  and  in  literature. 


164 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Denmark  attracts  tlie  sympathy  of  an  American  by 
many  points  of  resemblance  to  his  own  country.  Its 
schools  and  its  country  churches  remind  him  of  New 
England.  lie  finds  himself  among  people  of  the  same 
Protestant  faith,  wTho  are  kindred  with  him  by  many  ties, 
and  in  fact  who  claim — not  without  reason — to  be  the 
original  discoverers  of  his  country.  We  are  still  related 
to  the  Danes  by  blood.  The  light  hair  and  fair  blue 
eyes,  which  many  daughters  of  America  have  derived 
from  Saxon  parentage,  may  be  traced  back  to  the  shores 
of  the  Baltic. 

I am  happy  to  find  the  relations  between  Denmark 
and  my  own  country  now  harmonious  and  pleasant,  espe- 
cially as  at  one  time  they  threatened  to  be  broken.  The 
vexed  Sound  Dues  question,  which  has  been  a subject  of 
so  much  discussion  between  the  two  governments,  is  at 
last  settled  amicably,  and  to  the  satisfaction  of  both 
parties — settled  in  the  only  just  and  equitable  way,  by  a 
compromise,  the  United  States  having  paid  down  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars  as  an  equivalent  for  all  dues  on 
American  vessels  hereafter  trading  to  the  Baltic.  This 
sum  sounds  large  in  the  gross,  but  it  "was  a very  excellent 
bargain  for  us.  For  the  same  release  from  future  tolls 
on  British  vessels,  England  paid  six  millions  of  dollars, 
and  the  other  European  States  in  proportion  to  their 
commercial  interest  in  it.  No  doubt  our  country  was 
right  in  wishing  an  end  to  be  put  to  a system  of  dues, 
which  looked  like  a tribute  to  a foreign  power.  But  as 


RELATIONS  TO  AMERICA. 


165 


an  American,  I can  but  wish  that  the  demand  had  been 
made  a little  more  graciously,  and  in  a way  not  to  offend 
the  pride  of  an  old  ally — one  which  had  settled  a former 
claim  of  ours  in  the  most  generous  and  honorable  spirit. 
It  is  a curious  fact,  not  generally  known  in  our  country, 
that  a few  years  ago,  a claim  was  brought  against  Den- 
mark for  losses  incurred  during  the  wars  in  Europe — a 
claim  wThich  by  many  was  considered  a very  doubtful 
one  according  to  the  law  of  nations — yet,  through  the 
good  offices  of  our  minister,  Mr.  Wheaton,  who  resided 
many  years  at  Copenhagen,  and  did  much  to  secure  for 
us  the  respect  of  both  the  government  and  the  nation — 
it  was  allowed  by  Denmark,  which  thereon  actually  paid 
to  the  United  States  over  seven  hundred  thousand  dollars ! 
This  was  an  instance  of  honorable  dealing,  which  cer- 
tainly merited  a like  return.  But  courtesy  is  spoiled  by 
politicians,  who  hope  to  make  capital  out  of  their  patri- 
otic bluster,  and  who  thus  make  our  country  appear 
abroad  in  a very  unamiable  light.  But  let  that  pass. 
The  question,  at  last,  is  settled,  owing,  I think,  very 
much  to  the  excellent  tact  and  good  sense  both  of  the 
late  and  the  present  Danish  ministers.  And  now  that 
this  only  bone  of  contention  is  out  of  the  way,  let  us 
hope  that  the  old  friendly  feelings  between  the  two 
nations  will  be  restored,  and  become  stronger  than  ever. 

Another  point  of  sympathy  between  Denmark  and 
America,  is  common  liberal  institutions.  Denmark  is  one 
of  the  few  free  countries  of  Europe,  standing  in  this  be- 


166 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


side  Holland  and  England.  Like  them,  it  has  a king,  but 
in  no  way  is  the  liberty  of  the  subject  restricted.  Men 
think,  write,  and  speak,  as  freely  as  in  England  or  in  our 
own  Republic. 

The  king,  Frederic  VII.,  is  rather  an  eccentric  mon- 
arch. He  has  had  two  wives,  and  divorced  them  both. 
He  is  now  married  for  the  third  time,  and  certainly  this 
was  not  a marriage  for  reasons  of  state,  but  for  love, 
since  he  chose,  not  a princess,  but  a milliner.  The  mar- 
riage however  was  duly  solemnized  by  the  bishop. 
He  gave  her  a title,  that  of  Countess  of  Danner,  and 
they  now  live  together.  She  is  said  to  be  a very  clever 
woman,  and  to  exert  a good  influence  in  steadying  the 
somewhat  fickle  mind  of  the  king. 

This  is  not  a very  safe  example  for  a king  to  set  to 
his  people.  But  we  must  give  every  one  his  due.  This 
rather  free  and  easy  monarch,  though  he  cannot  be  con- 
sidered a good  family  man,  and  is  not  a pattern  of  the 
domestic  virtues,  - 'politically  has  some  noble  qualities. 
His  principles  are  rather  liberal  for  a king.  When 
he  was  but  a prince,  he  declared  his  intention,  if  he 
succeeded  to  the  crown,  to  give  his  people  a con- 
stitution. He  ascended  the  throne  in  January,  1848, 
just  before  the  revolutions  broke  out  in  Europe, 
and  his  first  act  was  to  carry  his  noble  purpose 
into  execution.  This  fidelity  to  his  engagement  appears 
the  more  honorable,  when  contrasted  with  the  conduct 
of  many  of  the  sovereigns  of  Europe,  who  have  made 


THE  KING. 


167 


great  professions  m a moment  of  peril,  and  as  soon  as 
they  felt  themselves  secure,  have  broken  every  promise, 
and  even  violated  their  sacred  oaths.  It  was  perhaps 
owing  to  this  wise  and  timely  concession  that  the  storm 
of  revolution,  which  burst  over  Europe  in  1848,  and 
which  swept  Paris,  Berlin,  and  Vienna,  did  not  reach  to 
Copenhagen.  Since  the  failure  of  those  revolutions  there 
has  been  a reaction  throughout  Europe  towards  more 
rigid  absolutism,  and  kings  have  broken  their  solemn 
pledges  made  to  their  people  in  the  hour  of  calamity, 
without  hesitation  or  scruple/  But  the  king  of  Denmark, 
to  his  honor  be  it  said,  has  never  broken  his  oath.  I am 
told  that  the  troubles  in  Holstein,  which  w'ere  secretly 
fomented  by  Prussia,  and  whose  cause  was  baptized  with 
the  high-sounding  name  of  German  nationality,  would 
have  been  allayed  at  once  if  Frederic  VII.  had  yielded 
to  the  reaction,  and  followed  the  perfidious  example  of 
the  German  courts.  Such  fidelity,  against  all  the  temp- 
tations of  royal  power,  is  a noble  trait  in  the  Danish 
monarch,  and  may  cover  a multitude  of  sins.  It  quite 
explains  the  strong  attachment,  which,  in  spite  of  all 
his  faults,  this  people  feel  for  their  true-hearted  sove- 
reign. 

The  king  is  now  fifty  years  old — or  will  be  on  the  Gth 
of  October — and  he  has  no  children.  Hence,  of  course, 
much  interest  is  felt  in  the  succession  to  the  throne. 
There  is  a party  among  the  Danes,  which  hopes  for  a 
union  of  Denmark  with  Norway  and  Sweden,  in  which 


168 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


case  it  is  probable  that  Carl,  the  Crown  Prince  of  Sweden, 
would  succeed  to  the  throne  of  the  united  realms. 

Since  1848,  all  Europe  has  been  stirred  with  questions 
about  unity  and  nationality.  Everywhere  there  is  a 
longing  for  all  of  the  same  race,  and  who  speak  the  same 
language,  to  be  united  under  the  same  government. 
Thus  we  hear  of  German  unity  and  Italian  unity.  So  the 
political  dreamers  of  the  North  form  great  hopes  of  a 
Scandinavian  unity.  Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden, 
united,  would  make  a powerful  monarchy,  which  could 
once  more  take  a place  among  the  great  sovereignties  of 
Europe. 

Meanwhile,  awaiting  this  political  confederacy,  the 
writers  of  the  North  have  sought  to  revive  the  spirit  and 
life  of  the  people  by  creating  a worthy  Scandinavian  lite- 
rature. Danish  scholars  have  explored  the  antiquities 
of  the  North,  and  brought  to  light  traces  of  a race  so 
remote,  as  would  almost  prove  that  Scandinavia  was  the 
cradle  of  Europe.  I hardly  know  a more  interesting 
collection  than  that  in  the  Museum  of  Northern  Antiqui- 
ties. We  were  shown  through  it  by  Professor  Thomsen 
himself,  who  explained  to  us  the  character  of  the  remains, 
which  are  arranged  in  the  order  of  periods.  First,  is  a 
whole  cabinet  filled  with  knives,  and  axes,  and  hammers, 
and  arrow-heads,  all  of  stone,  which  point  to  a period 
when  even  the  use  of  iron  was  unknown.  Then  we  trace 
century  by  century,  the  introduction  of  the  successive 
metals,  iron,  copper,  gold  and  silver,  till  we  approach  the 


THORWALDSEN. 


169 


confines  of  modern  civilization.  How  full  of  interest  are 
these  traces  of  the  arts  of  peace,  or  weapons  of  war, 
mingled  with  the  sepulchral  urns  which  contained  the 
ashes  of  mighty  chiefs,  dead  thousands  of  years  ago, 
buried  with  the  simple  domestic  utensils  which  they  were 
to  bear  with  them  to  the  Halls  of  Valhalla. 

Besides  these  antiquarian  researches,  Danish  and 
Swedish  writers  have  sought  to  make  known  to  Europe, 
the  present  life  of  the  people.  In  this  they  have  been 
successful,  and  many  whose  names  are  well  known  in 
England  and  America,  have  given  a new  interest  to  their 
pine  forests  and  their  rocky  shores. 

Here  in  Copenhagen,  especially,  one  feels  the  power  of 
a single  name,  great  in  letters  or  in  art,  to  give  glory  to 
a country.  To-day,  when  the  foreigner  turns  to  Den- 
mark, of  what  does  he  first  think  ? Not  of  its  army  or 
navy — but  of  one  man,  Thoewaldseu.  Here  the  great 
sculptor  Avas  born,  and  here,  though  he  spent  a large 
part  of  his  life  in  Rome,  he  came  back  to  die.  Here  are 
gathered  all  the  trophies  of  his  genius,  a vast  monument 
to  his  memory. 

The  Museum  of  Thorwaldsen  is  one  of  the  shrines  of 
art  in  Europe,  not  as  extensive,  but  in  the  department 
of  sculpture,  as  well  worth  seeing  as  the  galleries  of  the 
Louvre,  or  the  Vatican.  No  sculptor  that  ever  lived  has 
comprised  a greater  range  and  variety  of  subjects,  from 
the  humblest  to  the  highest.  Even  in  the  molding  of 
beasts  and  birds,  he  shows  a marvellous  vigor  as  well  as 

8 


170 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


truth  to  nature.  What  spirit  in  his  eagle  fed  by  Gany- 
mede ; what  majesty  in  his  sleeping  lions ! At  the  same 
time,  no  one  ever  conceived  more  grandly  of  the  human 
form  divine.  His  types  of  manly  beauty  are  almost  equal 
* to  the  Apollo.  He  has  even  bodied  forth  a nobler  man- 
hood in  his  group  of  the  Twelve  Apostles,  in  the  midst 
of  whom  walks  a majestic  form  like  unto  the  Son  of 
God. 

No  one  ever  caught  better  the  old  Greek  spirit,  or  ren- 
dered with  more  force  and  feeling  the  fables  of  the  classic 
mythology.  I do  not  think  he  is  so  happy  in  his  grand 
historical  compositions,  like  the  triumph  of  Alexander. 
Not  that  he  ever  fails,  but  here  he  seems  less  at  home. 
He  succeeds  best  in  rendering  simple  nature.  No  one 
ever  felt  more  intensely  the  poetry  of  life,  or  has  pre- 
sented more  beautiful  ideals  of  man  and  woman — of 
childhood  and  youth,  and  old  age.  So  of  his  emblems 
of  the  seasons  of  the  year,  of  spring  and  summer,  and 
autumn  and  winter,  and  of  the  successions  of  day  and 
night.  His  Night  and  Morning  are  known  all  over  the 
world.  You  cannot  imagine  the  number  and  variety  of 
the  bas  reliefs  which  cover  these  walls.  As  I walk 
through  these  long  corridors  filled  with  his  creations,  I 
am  amazed  at  the  richness  and  fertility  of  his  genius. 
What  troops  of  airy  fancies  have  flown  out  of  that  capa- 
cious brain,  like  doves  from  their  windows — aerial  forms 
of  grace  and  beauty,  that  henceforth  live  in  the  world’s 
love  and  admiration  like  the  eternal  types  of  nature. 


THORWALDSEN. 


m 


In  one  department  alone  he  seems  less  at  home,  in  de- 
picting the  passions  of  fear  and  hate.  No  writhing 
Laocoons,  or  wailing  Niobes,  or  dying  gladiators,  here 
bend  in  mortal  agony.  His  heart,  strong  and  gentle, 
delights  rather  in  emblems  of  innocence  and  love,  and 
youth  and  hope.  Nay,  even  when  depicting  death,  as  in 
his  designs  for  sepulchral  monuments,  his  fancy  seizes  at 
once  some  emblem  of  the  resurrection — of  life  beyond 
the  grave. 

What  holy  beauty  does  he  give  to  life’s  daily  wonder 
of  Sleep,  and  to  the  last  solemn  mystery  of  Death.  The 
marble  has  hardly  ceased  to  breathe,  and  the  spectator, 
awe-struck  before  the  mute  countenance,  almost  bows 
wTeeping  on  the  cold  and  stony  lips.  Wandering  among 
these  silent  forms,  we  murmur  our  thoughts  in  the  open- 
ing lines  of  “ Queen  Mab,”  which  might  have  been  written 
after  seeing  these  sculptures  : 

“ How  wonderful  is  Death — 

Death  and  his  brother  Sleep  ! 

One  pale  as  yonder  waning  moon, 

With  lips  of  lurid  blue ; 

The  other,  rosy  as  the  morn, 

When  throned  on  ocean’s  wave, 

It  blushes  o’er  the  world  ; 

Yet  both  so  passing  wonderful!” 

Such  was  Thorwaldsen — the  son  of  a poor  ship-car- 
penter from  Iceland — a man,  who,  even  when  courted 
by  princes,  never  lost  the  grand  simplicity  of  his  charac- 
ter, and — as  one  told  me,  who  knew  him  well — who 


172 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


“ always  wondered  that  people  made  so  much  of  him, 
and  thought  they  were  very  kind.” 

It  was  fitting  that  he  who  made  death  thus  beautiful 
should  be  laid  to  rest  amid  his  own  ever  fresh  images  of 
life.  The  museum  erected  by  the  nation  to  receive  the 
works  of  Thorwaldsen  is  the  noblest  monument  to  his 
fame,  and  there,  in  the  central  court,  is  the  old  man’s 
grave.  No  one  who  has  seen  the  Danes  gather  round 
that  sacred  spot,  or  marked  how  aflectionately  they  speak 
of  him,  so  lately  gone,  can  but  feel  that  that  great  name 
is  itself  a centre  of  unity,  and  supplies  to  them  in  some 
degree  the  place  of  political  power  or  military  glory.  Here 
then,  if  we  have  not  great  armies  and  navies  to  restore 
the  ancient  power  of  this  state  of  Denmark,  we  have  a 
far  purer  glory  to  gild  its  decline.  If  the  sun  does  not 
rise  over  the  Baltic,  and  cast  its  full  blaze  upon  the 
towers  and  spires  of  Copenhagen,  still  this  northern 
capital  has  a splendor  of  its  own,  in  the  Auroras  wdiich 
stream  up  so  brilliantly  in  these  cold  heavens,  and  shed 
a starry  light  upon  her  pinnacles. 

Here  ends  our  journey  to  the  North.  We  had  intended 
to  visit  Norway,  Sweden,  and  Russia,  before  our  return. 
But  time  fails.  The  summer  is  flying,  and  in  Norway 
the  facilities  for  travelling  are  so  meagre,  that  one’s  pro- 
gress must  be  very  slow.  Six  weeks  at  least  would  be 
necessary  to  see  Norway  and  Sweden,  and  a month  more 
for  Russia.  This  time  we  have  not  to  spare,  as  we  have 


LEAVING  THE  NORTH. 


173 


yet  to  traverse  the  whole  of  Germany.  It  is  tantalizing 
to  sail  along  the  shores  of  Sweden,  and  not  set  foot  upon 
it,  or  to  be  within  three  days  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  not 
visit  it.  But  as  we  must  make  a choice  of  countries,  for 
the  present  we  prefer  to  see  Germany,  and  therefore 
shall  leave  to-morrow  to  cross  the  Baltic,  on  our  way  to 
Berlin. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Crossing  the  Baltic — Germany — Berlin,  a dull  City  except  for 
Scholars — Manners  of  the  People — Frederick  the  Great — The 
Prussian  Army — Political  Discontent — Signs  of  Revolution. 

Berlin,  August  2,  1858. 

It  was  a pleasant  summer  afternoon  on  wTucli  we  bade 
adieu  to  Denmark.  For  several  days  tlie  Baltic  had 
been  lashed  by  a storm.  But  at  length  the  gale  had 
spent  its  force,  and  the  troubled  waves  sunk  to  rest. 
For  hours  after  we  left  the  quay,  we  sat  on  deck  watch- 
ing the  spires  of  Copenhagen  till  they  disappeared 
below  the  horizon.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Sound 
the  shores  of  Sweden  were  full  in  sight,  overshadowed 
by  warlike  memories  of  Charles  XH.,  and  the  great 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  and  the  still  greater  Gustavus  Vasa, 
and  attracting  a fonder  regard  from  thoughts  of  the 
brave,  simple  people  that  dwell  by  their  lakes  and  their 
rocky  fiords,  and  in  their  pine  forests. 

It  was  with  a feeling  of  reverence,  almost  of  awe,  that 
we  approached  the  shores  of  Germany — that  vast  terri- 
tory occupied  by  the  mighty  race  that  speak  the  Ger- 
man tongue — spreading  over  the  whole  of  central 
Europe,  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Adriatic,  and  from 

174 


♦ 


APPROACH  TO  GERMANY. 


175 


Poland  to  the  Rhine.  As  we  drew  near  the  coast,  we 
passed  the  isle  of  Rugen,  whose  white  chalk  cliffs,  like 
those  of  Albion,  reflected  the  morning  sun ; and  which, 
from  its  beautiful  and  somewhat  English  scenery, 
and  from  being  a favorite  summer  resort  of  the  fashion- 
able world,  is  sometimes  called  the  German  Isle  of 
Wight.  This  island,  with  the  neighboring  coast  of 
Pomerania,  was  the  cradle  of  those  terrible  barbarians, 
who,  issuing  out  of  their  forests,  swept  over  Europe  and 
finally  planted  their  victorious  ensigns  on  the  seven  hills 
of  Rome. 

Early  in  the  morning  we  found  ourselves  in  a broad 
river,  with  low  marshy  banks  on  either  side.  This  was 
the  Oder,  one  of  the  great  outlets  for  the  commerce  of 
Germany.  Here,  on  an  island,  more  than  two  hundred 
- years  ago,  landed  Gustavus  Adolphus  with  the  vanguard 
of  that  Swedish  army  that  was  to  carry  the  banner  of 
Protestantism  through  so  many  hard-fought  battles  in 
the  Thirty  Years’  War.  Like  a Christian  warrior,  no 
sooner  had  he  touched  the  soil  than  he  knelt  upon  the 
ground,  and  implored  the  protection  and  favor  of  the 
Almighty.  A few  hours  more  brought  us  to  Stettin — a 
town  of  little  interest  except  as  a port  for  the  Baltic 
trade — though  honored  (if  it  be  an  honor)  as  the  birth- 
place of  the  Russian  empress  Catherine.  The  same 
afternoon  we  reached  the  Prussian  capital. 

Berlin  offers  fewer  objects  to  interest  a stranger  than 
almost  any  of  the  capitals  of  Europe.  It  is  the  newest 


17C 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


of  them  all,  only  dating  as  a royal  city,  from  the  time 
of  Frederick  the  Great.  It  has  not  a single  advantage 
of  position  to  render  it  imposing.  It  stands  in  the  cen- 
tre of  a vast  sandy  plain,  looking  from  a distance  as  soli- 
tary and  desolate  as  Tadmor  in  the  wilderness.  It  is 
said  that  the  city  took  its  present  proportions  from  an 
arbitrary  command  of  Frederick,  wTho,  wishing  to  have 
a great  capital,  inclosed  an  immense  space  with  a wall 
and  commanded  it  to  be  filled  with  houses.  Of  course 
the  only  way  to  obey  the  royal  decree  was  to  scatter 
the  houses  as  widely  as  possible,  and  as  they  were  but 
few,  leaving  them  also  far  between.  Hence  the  streets  are 
the  widest,  and  longest,  and  flattest  that  we  have  seen  in 
any  city  in  Europe.  The  houses,  too,  are  generally  not 
more  than  two  stories  high,  and  being  built  of  brick  and 
stuccoed,  present  a very  dull  and  monotonous  appearance. 

There  are  not  more  than  about  a dozen  stately  edi- 
fices in  all  Berlin,  and  these  are  within  a stone’s  throw 
of  each  other.  From  our  windows  in  the  Hotel  de  Rus- 
sie,  wre  can  see  almost  every  one  of  them.  But  a step 
across  the  bridge  is  the  Royal  Palace — a vast  pile,  but 
grand  only  from  its  size,  built,  not  of  eternal  granite  or 
polished  marble,  but  of  brick,  stuccoed,  wdiich,  ow  ing  to 
the  damp  climate,  is  constantly  peeling  off,  thus  leaving 
the  palace,  as  royalty  itself  sometimes  is  left,  in  a state 
of  sorry  nakedness.  On  the  other  side  of  the  square  is 
the  New  Museum — perhaps  the  finest  edifice  in  Berlin, 
and  near  at  hand,  on  the  Unter  den  Linden,  are  the 


MANNERS  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 


m 


Arsenal,  the  Opera,  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  the  Royal 
Library  and  the  University. 

But  if  Berlin  is  not  a very  splendid  capital,  it  has 
other  attractions,  especially  for  scholars  and  literary  men. 
It  is  the  intellectual  centre  of  Germany.  Here  reside 
Humboldt  and  Ritter,  and  hundreds  of  men  of  science. 
Of  course  the  assemblage  of  such  a number  of  learned 
savans  gives  to  the  city  a scholarly  character,  which 
offers  great  advantages  to  students  from  all  parts  of  Eu- 
rope and  from  America. 

Socially,  I am  much  pleased  with  the  Germans  as  I 
was  with  their  cousins,  the  Dutch.  There  is  a heartiness 
in  their  broad  “ Yah,  yah,”  and  “ Nein,  nein,”  which  does 
me  good  to  hear.  There  is  only  one  thing  in  German 
manners  which  I cannot  get  along  with,  and  that  is  the 
universal  habit  of  smoking.  The  whole  German  race  seems 
to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  smoke  and  beer.  Germany  is 
the  land  of  pipes  and  mugs.  All  classes  of  people,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest,  smoke  and  drink,  and  drink  and 
smoke.  They  smoke  at  all  times  and  in  all  places,  in  the 
house  and  by  the  way,  in  public  gardens,  and  in  railway 
carriages,  when  they  lie  down  and  when  they  rise  up. 
They  smoke  before  breakfast,  and  smoke  after  dinner. 
Morning,  noon  and  night,  smoke,  smoke,  smoke.  In- 
deed I believe  a German’s  idea  of  heaven  is  as  a place 
where  every  man  is  provided  with  a huge  meerschaum, 
with  which  extended  before  him,  he  sits  in  repose,  his 
spirit  absorbed  in  dreams,  while  perpetual  wreaths  float 

8* 


178 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


around  his  head,  the  symbol  of  eternal  beatitude.  If  it 
be  so  that  this  is  the  German’s  heaven,  I desire  to  enter 
some  other  apartment  in  the  celestial  mansions,  marked 
like  the  ladies’  railway  carriages,  Fur  Nichtraucher. 

The  great  number  of  soldiers  in  Berlin  gives  a military 
air  to  the  streets.  Prussia  maintains  a standing  army 
of  nearly  half  a million  of  men,  and  perhaps  no  army  in 
Europe  is  more  highly  disciplined.  Every  soldier  is 
practised  in  all  manly  exercises.  The  aim  of  his  mili- 
tary education  is  to  develop  first  of  all  his  bodily  activ- 
ity, and  then  to  combine  the  personal  strength  of  these 
hundreds  and  thousand's  of  athletic  and  stalwart  men  in 
one  irresistible  armed  force.  The  thoroughness  with 
which  this  military  drill  is  carried  out,  produces  the 
highest  degree  of  effectiveness  in  the  whole  body.  Sev- 
eral times  a year  a grand  review  of  the  troops  takes 
place  in  the  Thiergarten  outside  of  the  city  walls,  and 
no  one  who  has  seen  these  solid  battalions  marching 
across  the  plain,  shaking  the  earth  with  their  tread,  or 
watched  their  swift  evolutions,  the  rapid  movement  of 
the  ponderous  artillery,  the  wheeling  and  charging  of 
the  squadrons  of  cavalry,  can  doubt  that  the  military 
force  of  Prussia  will  be  a tremendous  weight  to  be 
thrown  into  the  scale,  in  the  case  of  a general  European 
war. 

As  Prussia  is  one  of  the  later  European  monarchies, 
the  historical  interest  of  its  capital  is  less  than  that  of 
most  others.  Yet  here  the  stranger  is  awed  by  the  con- 


FREDERICK  THE  GREAT. 


179 


stant  presence  of  one  imperial  name.  I am  not  one  of 
Carlyle’s  hero  worshippers,  yet  I cannot  but  share  in  large 
degree  in  his  admiration  for  the  great  Frederick.  Here, 
in  the  heart  of  the  kingdom  which  he  created,  in  the 
capital  which  he  founded,  one  cannot  refuse  homage  to 
his  vast  civil  as  well  as  military  genius.  It  is  not  with 
blind  admiration  for  a successful  warrior,  but  with 
the  far  higher  respect  due  to  the  founder  of  an  empire, 
that  I look  up  to  the  colossal  equestrian  statue,  which 
stands  under  the  trees  of  the  Unter  den  Linden ; or 
that  I visited  at  Potsdam  the  room  in  which  he  died, 
and  saw  the  very  chair  on  which  he  bowed  his  kingly 
head,  and  the  clock  on  the  mantel  which  stood  still  at 
the  very  hour  when  that  lion  heart  ceased  to  beat. 

You  will  wish  to  learn  something  of  the  political 
state  of  Germany.  I am  not  going  to  plunge  into  the 
troubled  sea  of  German  politics.  A traveller  passing 
rapidly  through  a country,  spending  but  a few  days  in 
its  principal  cities,  of  course  cannot  see  much  below  the 
surface  of  things.  I shall  speak,  therefore,  only  of  what  is 
very  obvious.  On  the  outside  the  appearance  of  things  is 
more  favorable  than  we  looked  for.  We  came  into  Ger- 
many expecting  to  find  the  people  greatly  oppressed,  and 
looking  soured  and  gloomy,  and  we  find,  on  the  contrary, 
that  they  are  very  gay  and  cheerful,  and  seem  to  enjoy 
a high  degree  of  prosperity.  To  be  sure,  they  have  on 
now  their  best  look.  The  whole  continent  is  at  peace, 
and  while  the  earth  is  not  ravaged  by  war,  the  industry 


180 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


of  man  cannot  fail  to  secure  general  comfort.  In  Prus- 
sia there  is  also  a greater  degree  of  liberty  than  in  Aus- 
tria, and  to  the  eye  of  the  stranger,  the  nation  seems  to 
be  powerful  and  prosperous. 

Yet  even  here  there  are  signs,  no  bigger  than  a man’s 
hand,  that  a future  day  may  bring  clouds  and  storms. 
The  revolutions  of  1848,  though  apparently  checked  and 
put  down,  have  yet  done  their  work  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people.  Throughout  Germany,  and  especially  here  in 
Prussia,  there  is  a strong  desire  for  liberal  institutions. 
We  are  told  that  the  king  does  not  reside  much  at 
his  palace  in  the  capital,  but  prefers  the  retirement  of 
Potsdam;  that  he  does  not  like  the  people  of  Berlin, 
probably  from  remembrance  of  the  rough  lesson  they 
gave  him  in  1848.  He  cannot  forget  the  humiliations 
of  that  day  when  he  was  called  out  on  the  balcony  of 
his  palace  and  made  to  take  olf  his  hat  to  the  mob. 
As  he  had  to  abase  himself  before  the  pojmlace  then, 
since  he  recovered  his  grasp  of  power,  he  has  felt  the 
bitterest  animosity  towards  all  who  may  have  contri- 
buted to  his  humiliation.  The  reaction  here  has  taken  a 
character  of  personal  rancor  which  pursues  its  enemies 
even  in  the  grave.  The  insurgents  who  fell  in  the  street 
conflicts  of  ’48,  are  buried  without  the  walls  in  a deso- 
late spot,  which  is  surrounded  by  a thick  hedge,  on  pur- 
pose to  hide  their  dishonored  graves  from  popular  notice 
and  the  tribute  of  public  sympathy.  Such  is  the  temper 
of  the  king  Frederick  William  towards  his  people.  N or 


SIGNS  OF  REVOLUTION. 


181 


is  there  much  love  lost  on  their  side.  I am  assured  by- 
persons  who  have  the  best  means  of  information,  that 
affairs,  though  calm  on  the  surface,  are  far  from  being 
settled,  and  that  a revolution  in  Paris  would  instantly  be 
followed  by  one  in  Berlin.  The  change  may  not  come 
this  year  or  next,  but  France  will  not  always  submit  to 
an  absolute  despotism,  and  when  the  explosion  comes 
there,  then  must  we  look  for  a universal  conflagration. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Dresden — Position  on  the  Elbe — Beauty  of  the  City  and  its 
Environs — Attractions  to  Strangers— Picture  Gallery — The 
King — TnE  Battle  of  Dresden. 

Of  all  the  German  capitals,  none  unites  so  many  charms 
to  invite  the  traveller,  and  especially  to  attract  and  de- 
tain foreign  residents,  as  Dresden,  the  capital  of  Saxony. 
It  is  not  the  centre  of  an  empire  like  Prussia  or  Aus- 
tria, where  the  heart  of  a great  monarchy  beats,  but  it 
is  a more  beautiful  city  than  Berlin,  and  breathes  a freer 
air  than  Vienna.  On  a smaller  scale  it  is  a capital.  It 
has  its  own  kingdom  and  court,  its  palaces  and  royal 
gardens,  while  its  picture  gallery,  the  best  in  all  the 
north  of  Europe,  has  obtained  for  it  the  name  of  the 
German  Florence.  It  is  celebrated  also  for  its  music, 
which  is  displayed  for  public  admiration  alike  in  churches 
and  operas.  It  is  not  a great  commercial  city,  crowded 
with  bustle  and  trade.  It  has  rather  a quiet,  dignified 
air,  as  if  it  were  the  home  only  of  gentlemen  and  schol- 
ars. Its  citizens  do  not  rush  through  the  streets,  like 
bilious-looking  Yankees,  in  chase  of  money.  They  walk 

along  with  a sedate  and  reverend  air.  The  garden-like 
182 


DRESDEN. 


183 


squares  of  the  city,  surrounded  by  elegant  private  resi- 
dences, seem  to  mark  the  abodes,  not  of  ambitious 
tradesmen,  but  of  men  of  wealth  and  taste,  wrho  have 
retired  from  active  life,  to  devote  themselves  to  pursuits 
of  learning  and  of  art.  On  these  accounts  Dresden  is  a 
favorite  resort  for  artists  and  literary  men,  both  of  Ger- 
many and  other  countries.  Many  of  the  English  come 
here  to  reside.  They  find  a milder  climate,  and  liv- 
ing less  expensive  than  in  their  own  coimtry,  while  they 
have  all  advantages  of  education  for  their  children,  with 
the  enjoyment  of  a refined  and  cultivated  society  for 
themselves.  If  besides  they  seek  for  bold  scenery,  for 
rocks  and  mountains,  these  they  can  find  within  a day’s 
reach  by  making  excursions  into  the  Saxon  Switzerland. 
For  a man  of  elegant  tastes,  what  more  could  be  desired 
than  this  quiet  enjoyment  of  learning  and  leisure,  sur- 
rounded at  once  by  the  beauties  of  nature  and  immortal 
works  of  art? 

Dresden  derives  its  chief  beauty  from  its  position,  on 
the  banks  of  a broad  and  noble  river,  the  Elbe.  Rising  in 
the  mountains  of  Bohemia,  this  lordly  river  flows  darkly 
between  the  frowning  fortresses  of  Konigstein  and  Lilli- 
enstein,  and  then  bursts  joyously  away  through  the  sunny 
plains  of  Saxony,  flowing  on  a hundred  leagues  till  it  passes 
beneath  the  heights  of  Hamburg,  and  its  warm  life  is 
chilled  in  the  cold  waters  of  the  northern  sea.  At  Dres- 
den it  is  spanned  by  a bridge  of  many  arches,  which 
leads  across  to  the  foot  of  the  Royal  Palace,  and  as  the 


184 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


traveller  approaches  from  the  opposite  bank,  he  sees  a 
line  of  terraces  and  lofty  piles  reflected  in  the  waters. 

The  chief  attraction  of  Dresden  is  its  picture  gallery, 
which  is,  beyond  comparison,  the  finest  in  Germany,  and 
is  surpassed  only  by  the  great  collections  of  Paris  and 
of  Italy.  The  Dresden  gallery  has  long  been  the  pride 
of  the  Saxon  court,  and  successive  sovereigns  have 
added  to  its  treasures.  For  a wonder  it  has  escaped  in 
all  the  sieges  and  bombardments  to  which  Dresden  has 
been  exposed.  Russell,  in  his  Tour  in  Germany,  mentions 
the  somewhat  curious  and  honorable  fact  that  “ it  has 
had  the  rare  fortune  to  be  treated  with  reverence  by 
every  hostile  hand.  Frederick  the  Great  bombarded 
Dresden,  battered  down  its  churches,  laid  its  streets  in 
ruins,  but  ordered  his  cannon  and  mortars  to  keep  clear 
of  the  picture  gallery.  He  entered  as  a conqueror,  lev- 
ied the  taxes,  administered  the  government,  and  with  an 
affectation  of  humility,  asked  permission  of  the  captive 
Electress  to  visit  the  gallery  as  a stranger!”  Napoleon, 
too,  who  plundered  all  the  galleries  of  Italy  to  enrich 
the  Louvre,  respected  that  of  Dresden,  since  the  King 
of  Saxony  was  his  best  friend  among  the  German 
princes,  and  indeed  the  only  one  who  proved  his  devo- 
tion by  being  faithful  to  the  last. 

Of  course,  I am  not  going  to  attempt  to  describe  this 
Wilderness  of  Art,  for  I have  found,  in  reading  books 
of  travel,  nothing  so  wearisome  and  unsatisfactory  as 
descriptions  of  paintings.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the 


THE  PICTURE  GALLERY. 


185 


collection  is  one  of  the  largest  in  Europe,  and  embraces 
contributions  from  all  the  most  distinguished  schools — 
not  only  Italian,  but  German  and  Flemish,  French  and 
Spanish.  These  are  arranged  in  such  order  that  the 
stranger,  in  passing  from  hall  to  hall,  passes  from  coun- 
try to  country  and  age  to  age.  Now  he  finds  himself  in 
a room  with  Guido  and  Correggio,  and  now  with  Titian 
and  the  Venetian  masters ; and  now  he  is  transferred  to 
the  Low  Coimtries,  studying  the  minute  Dutch  pictures 
of  Teniers,  or  the  brawny  figures  of  Rubens,  and  the 
dark  backgrounds  and  sombre  foreheads  of  Rembrandt. 
But  the  glory  of  the  Dresden  gallery  is  the  Madonna 
di  San  Sisto  of  Rafiaelle.  This  is  certainly  one  of  the 
most  majestic  figures  ever  painted  on  canvas.  I am  no 
connoisseur,  nor  do  I think  it  any  mark  of  sense  for  tra- 
vellers to  go  into  raptures  before  paintings  which  they 
cannot  comprehend.  Many  of  the  paintings  by  the  Old 
Masters,  which  are  very  celebrated,  I confess  I see  no 
beauty  in.  No  doubt  the  beauty  is  there,  but  I can’t 
see  it.  But  a man  must  be  a stock  who  can  stand  un- 
moved before  this  divine  form,  soaring  to  heaven  with 
the  infant  Saviour  in  her  arms.  We  recognize  here  at 
once  the  same  genius  which  glows  in  the  Transfiguration 
at  Rome. 

Dresden  has  other  treasures  for  those  curious  in  such 
things,  in  a collection  of  crown  jewels  and  of  ancient 
armor  far  superior  to  that  in  the  Tower  of  London.  The 
kings  of  Saxony  are  among  the  richest  sovereigns  of 


186 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Europe,  and  the  display  of  rare  gems  in  the  Green  Vault 
of  the  palace,  is  dazzling  to  the  eye,  and  reminds  one  of 
the  fabulous  riches  of  the  East. 

The  environs  of  Dresden  are  even  more  beautiful  than 
the  city  itself.  The  hills  along  the  Elbe  are  sprinkled 
with  princely  villas,  which  look  down  on  the  valley  and 
the  river.  Wide  fields  and  gentle  slopes  invite  to  ex- 
cursions in  every  direction.  Each  afternoon  we  took  a 
long  drive.  One  of  these  was  to  the  Grosse  Garten,  an 
extensive  park  beyond  the  walls,  in  which  the  king  has 
a summer  palace.  We  had  been  riding,  it  seemed  to  us, 
for  miles  through  the  avenues,  when  we  stopped  at  a 
cottage,  under  the  trees,  to  take  ice  cream.  While 
the  waiter  was  bringing  it  out  to  the  carriage,  our  coach- 
man cried  “The  king!  the  king!”  We  looked  up  and 
saw  a coach  and  four,  with  outriders,  wheeling  rapidly 
toward  us.  We  stood  up  to  get  a full  view  of  the  face 
of  majesty.  As  the  train  swept  by,  I lifted  my  chapeau 
with  all  due  reverence,  to  which  the  old  king,  baring  his 
white  locks,  bowed  his  head,  and  the  queen,  who  sat  be- 
side him,  bent  very  low  her  royal  face.  After  such  a 
mark  of  distinction,  we  resumed  our  seats  and  sipped 
our  ice  cream  with  a new  sense  of  dignity. 

Leaving  the  Park,  we  bade  our  driver  take  us  out  into 
the  open  country,  that  we  might  make  the  whole  circuit 
of  the  city.  Look  ! on  the  top  of  yonder  hill  stands  a 
clump  of  trees,  shading  a granite  monument.  That  is 
the  spot  where  fell  the  brave  Moreau,  the  hero  of  Hohen- 


THE  BATTLE  OF  DRESDEN. 


187 


linden.  “ Drive  us  there!”  Our  coachman  was  a good, 
honest  fellow,  full  of  zeal  to  show  us  all  the  sights  of 
Dresden,  and  with  a natural  Saxon  pride  in  the  great 
battle  which  had  been  fought  around  the  walls  of  his 
city,  he  started  off  at  a rapid  rate,  and  though  the  dis- 
tance was  pretty  long,  and  the  ascent  steep,  he  soon 
brought  us  to  the  place.  We  got  out  and  walked  to  the 
trees,  and  there  stood  for  a long  time,  leaning  on  the 
monument  and  looking  down  upon  the  field  of  battle. 
This  was  the  very  spot.  All  along  these  heights  stretched 
the  Russian  and  Austrian  armies,  two  hundred  thousand 
strong,  while  below  fluttered  the  ensigns  of  France. 
Where  we  stood,  the  Emperor  Alexander,  with  Moreau 
at  his  side,  had  taken  his  post  of  observation,  to  watch 
the  events  of  that  dreadful  day.  The  quick  eye  of  Napo- 
leon, from  the  walls  of  the  city,  spied  this  party  recon- 
noitering  the  field.  He  called  an  officer,  and  bade  him 
throw  a cannon-shot  into  the  group.  The  fatal  ball  struck 
Moreau,  and  carried  off  both  his  legs.  Yet  even  at  this 
moment  he  did  not  lose  his  courage.  Carried  to  the  rear, 
he  stretched  out  his  bleeding  limbs,  and  coolly  smoked  a 
cigar,  while  the  surgeon  performed  the  dreadful  task  of 
amputation.  He  died  a few  days  after,  in  the  same  un- 
shaken temper,  an  irreparable  loss  to  the  allied  army. 

Looking  down  from  these  heights,  how  distinctly  did 
I recall  the  descriptions  of  the  battle  of  Dresden  which 
I had  read  years  ago.  Hardly  any  scene  in  the  career 
of  the  Great  Captain  was  more  vividly  imprinted  ou  my 


188 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


memory,  for  none  seemed  more  dramatic  in  its  incidents. 
It  was  Napoleon’s  last  campaign  in  Germany.  The  ex- 
pedition to  Russia  the  year  before  had  ended  in  utter 
ruin.  Hoping  by  superhuman  exertions  to  retrieve  these 
disasters,  and  still  to  remain  master  of  Germany,  he  had 
at  length  succeeded,  by  draining  France  almost  of  its  last 
man,  in  bringing  into  the  heart  of  Germany  another  army 
of  more  than  a quarter  of  a million.  This  was  arrayed 
along  the  line  of  the  Elbe,  from  Dresden  to  Hamburg, 
and  backed  by  six  strong  fortresses.  Dresden  was  the 
centre  and  pivot  of  the  whole.  Such  a host,  under  such  a 
chief,  would  seem  invincible.  But  half  a million  of  sol- 
diers had  perished  the  year  before  in  Russia,  and  the 
host  of  the  invader  might  perish  again.  All  Europe  was 
in  arms.  His  enemies  were  countless  as  the  leaves  of  the 
forest.  They  came  from  the  North  and  the  South,  and 
from,  the  farthest  East — for  with  the  Russian  army  were 
wild  horsemen  from  the  interior  of  Asia,  almost  from  the 
borders  of  China.  Napoleon  had  anticipated  victory  by 
repeating  the  tactics  of  his  Italian  campaigns — attacking 
his  enemies  separately  and  beating  them  in  detail.  But 
his  enemies  had  at  last  learned  wisdom  from  bitter  expe- 
rience. Besides,  they  had  now  with  them  two  of  N apo- 
leon’s  oldest  and  best  officers,  Bernadotte,  the  king  of 
Sweden,  and  Moreau,  who  had  been  living  in  retirement 
in  America,  but  had  now  returned  by  invitation  of  the 
Emperor  of  Russia  to  take  part  in  the  great  events  of  this 
decisive  year.  By  their  advice,  the  allies  agreed  upon  a 


THE  BATTLE  OF  DRESDEN. 


189 


plan  of  operations  which  was  eminently  prudent  and  was 
destined  to  be  successful.  It  was  on  no  account  to  hazard  a 
battle.  Whatever  division  was  attacked  was  to  retreat, 
and  thus,  if  possible,  draw  Napoleon  into  the  interior  of 
the  country.  The  Emperor,  it  seems,  did  not  give  his  ene- 
mies credit  for  so  much  good  judgment  and  such  unity  of 
operations,  and  in  pursuance  of  his  own  plan,  marched 
against  Blucher.  The  old  Prussian  field  marshal,  who 
was  a perfect  bull-dog  and  loved  nothing  so  much  as  a 
battle,  still  obeyed  his  orders,  and  began  to  retreat,  but 
slowly,  and  turning  often  to  renew  an  engagement,  thus 
provoking  Napoleon  into  a long  pursuit  and  a series  of 
attacks,  which  resulted  in  nothing,  since  he  could  never 
get  close  enough  to  the  enemy  to  make  the  blow  decisive. 
Thus  Blucher  drew  him  on  a hundred  miles  into  the  heart 
of  Silesia,  when  the  object  of  the  enemy  became  appa- 
rent. To  his  surprise  and  consternation,  Napoleon 
learned  that  the  allies,  taking  advantage  of  his  absence, 
had  suddenly  poured  through  all  the  passes  of  the  Bohe- 
mian mountains,  and  rushed  down  upon  Dresden,  resolved 
to  take  it  at  a blow.  Instantly  he  turned  upon  his  track, 
ordering  the  Imperial  Guard  to  return  by  forced  marches. 
The  allies  had  surrounded  the  city  on  the  25th  of  August, 
and  if  they  had  attacked  at  once,  as  Moreau  advised, 
Dresden  must  have  fallen.  But  they  waited  for  another 
corps  to  come  up,  and  that  delay  proved  fatal.  The  next 
day  they  began  one  of  the  most  terrible  assaults  ever 
heard  of  in  war.  Six  divisions,  each  preceded  by  fifty 


190 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


cannon,  advanced  to  the  walls  of  the  city  and  com- 
menced the  most  murderous  cannonade.  St.  Cyr  had 
but  twenty  thousand  men  with  which  to  hold  the  city 
against  ten  times  that  number.  Courier  after  courier 
was  dispatched  to  Napoleon  to  tell  of  his  desperate  ex- 
tremity. It  seemed,  indeed,  that  all  was  lost,  when  sud- 
denly from  the  other  side  of  the  Elbe  came  a tumultuous 
roar  as  of  advancing  legions,  and  swiftly  rushed  into  view 
the  columns  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  with  Napoleon  at 
their  head.  A German  writer,  who  was  a witness  of  the 
scene,  says  : “ It  was  then  that  for  the  first  time  I beheld 
his  face.  He  came  on  with  the  eye  of  a tyrant  and  the 
voice  of  a lion,  urging  his  breathless  and  eager  soldiers.” 
Sweeping  over  the  magnificent  bridges,  they  poured  into 
the  streets  and  squares  of  the  city.  W eary  with  their 
long  and  rapid  march,  they  still  demanded  with  loud 
cries  to  be  led  into  immediate  battle.  Their  wish  was 
soon  gratified.  The  gates  were  thrown  open,  and  two 
columns  advanced  to  the  charge  and  soon  changed  the 
face  of  the  battle.  Surprised  and  dismayed  at  this  sud- 
den resistance,  the  allied  commanders  could  only  explain 
it  by  saying  that  “ the  Emperor  must  be  in  the  city.” 
Night  closed  the  battle,  but  not  the  suffering.  It  had 
been  a hot  summer’s  day,  and  now  the  clouds  gathered 
thick,  and  the  rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  All  night 
the  floods  swept  the  streets  and  the  fields  where  the  two 
great  armies  were  encamped.  The  morning  broke  in  the 
midst  of  the  storm.  The  rain  still  fell  in  torrents,  and 


THIS  BATTLE  OF  DRESDEN. 


191 


the  wind  moaned  over  the  field  of  death.  But  not  even 
this  war  of  the  elements  could  check  the  fury  of  human 
passions.  All  day  long  the  battle  raged.  The  incessant 
explosions  of  a thousand  cannon  shook  the  air,  and  charg- 
ing squadrons  rode  down  the  bloody  plain.  The  contest 
was  long  and  obstinate.  But  the  genius  of  Napoleon  at 
length  triumphed  at  every  point,  and  the  allied  army 
were  in  full  retreat. 

It  was  but  forty-five  years  ago  that  Dresden  saw  that 
fearful  carnage.  And  now  I was  standing  upon  that  hill- 
top, and  looking  down  upon  that  battle  plain.  All  was 
calm  and  still.  The  sun  was  sinking  peacefully  in  the 
west,  and  the  trees  above  us  waved  gently  in  the  even- 
ing wind,  as  if  murmuring  a soft  requiem  for  the  brave. 
W e returned  into  the  city,  and  again  walked  to  the  cen- 
tral arch  of  the  bridge,  and  looked  down  into  the  stream. 
How  peacefully  the  waters  ran,  washing  away  from  but- 
tress and  battlement  the  stains  of  human  blood.  W elcome, 
all-healing  Nature,  that  doth  cleanse  from  the  fair  face 
of  the  earth  the  marks  of  human  guilt.  Let  the  winds 
blow  and  the  waters  flow,  and  sweep  away  every  trace 
of  violence  and  crime ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


Sail  on  the  Elbe — Prague — Situation  and  Architecture — The 
Old  Bridge — The  Jews’  Quarter — Synagogue  and  Cemetery — 
The  Cathedral — Palace  of  the  Bohemian  Kings. 

Could  there  be  a grander  pass  from  one  kingdom  to 
another,  than  the  broad  bosom  of  a river  flowing 
through  a gateway  of  mountains  ? It  was  thus  that  we 
entered  from  Saxony  into  Bohemia.  W e left  Dresden 
for  Prague  by  a steamer  on  the  Elbe,  and  in  a few  hours 
were  in  the  heart  of  the  Saxon  Switzerland.  How  brac- 
ing was  this  air  of  the  mountains  after  the  long  and  dreary 
wastes  which  we  had  traversed.  Northern  Germany  has 
little  to  boast  in  the  way  of  natural  scenery.  What  Hol- 
land is,  that  is  the  whole  of  the  North  of  Europe — a 
boundless  plain,  sometimes  rising  into  gently  undulating 
hills  and  valleys,  but  unbroken  by  mountain  ridges  till 
you  get  as  far  as  Silesia  or  Saxony. 

But  if  we  found  little  to  admire  in  the  North  and 
West,  we  were  abundantly  compensated  as  we  ap- 
proached the  East  and  South.  For  the  traveller  in 
search  of  fine  scenery,  the  Elbe  is  quite  as  well  worthy 
of  a visit  as  the  Rhine.  In  most  respects  it  equals,  in 

192 


SAIL  ON  THE  ELBE. 


193 


some  it  surpasses,  tlie  glories  of  utlie  exulting  and 
abounding  river.”  Like  that,  its  course  is  among  the 
hills,  but  as  it  winds  more  frequently,  the  landscapes 
change  more  rapidly.  From  its  very  brink  rise  the 
steep  ascents  which  sometimes  tower  to  a tremendous 
height  above  the  stream — now  presenting  a bold  head 
of  rock,  and  now  covered  with  dark,  funereal  pines. 
Nor  is  it  nature  alone  which  lends  such  a charm  to  these 
solitudes.  These  summits  are  crowned  with  many  a 
rock  and  ruin,  with  old  castles,  out  of  whose  gates  issued 
armed  knights  centuries  ago,  but  which  are  now  deserted 
and  silent.  As  Coleridge  says  in  his  melancholy  chime : 

“ The  knights  are  dust, 

Their  armor  rust, 

Their  souls  are  with  the  saints,  we  trust.” 

Here  and  there  a cliff  is  capped  with  a fortress,  still  held 
by  armed  men,  and  huge  batteries  frown  over  the  nar- 
row pass.  Thus  Konigstein  is  to  the  Elbe  what  Ehren- 
breitstein  is  to  the  Rhine.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest 
fortresses  in  Europe,  and  indeed  almost  the  only  one  that 
has  never  been  taken.  But  look ! the  mountains  are 
passed  and  the  river  is  left  behind,  and  we  are  now  rolling 
on  to  another  valley,  and  a capital  famed  and  hoary. 

No  city  in  Germany  combines  so  much  to  interest  a 
traveller  as  the  ancient  capital  of  Bohemia.  Its  situation 
is  bold  and  striking.  Like  Edinburgh,  it  hangs  on  two 

9 


194 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


hillsides,  facing  each  other,  while  “ the  rushing  Moldau  n 
flows  between.  Its  architecture  is  half  Oriental,  blos- 
soming in  a hundred  domes  and  spires,  brought  from 
the  gorgeous  East.  And  its  history  is  marked  for  cen- 
turies by  the  struggle  of  the  Christian  with  the  Turk, 
and  of  the  Catholic  with  the  Protestant.  No  country 
in  Europe  acted  a more  conspicuous  part  in  all  the  reli- 
gious wars  than  Bohemia.  The  story  of  its  greatness, 
is  it  not  written  in  the  chronicles  of  those  troublous 
times  ? Had  I not  read  of  Bohemian  patriots  and  Bo- 
hemian martyrs?  Of  John  Huss,  and  Jerome  of 
Prague?  And  of  the  lion-hearted  Ziska,  who,  even 
when  struck  with  blindness,  still  marshalled  his  army 
and  led  it  to  victorious  battle — nay,  whose  unconquered 
spirit  fought  even  when  he  was  dead,  since  he  bade  his 
soldiers  take  his  skin  for  a drum-head,  and  told  them 
that  its  beat  should  carry  terror  into  the  hearts  of  his 
enemies ! 

All  this  was  running  in  my  brain  as  we  came  up  the 
valley  of  the  Elbe,  and  through  the  passes  of  the  Bohe- 
mian mountains.  The  sun  was  setting,  as  we  approached 
the  capital  from  the  west,  and  its  fiery  glow  was  re- 
flected back  from  the  tower  of  the  Cathedral  and  the 
ancient  palace  of  the  Bohemian  kings.  You  remember 
Longfellow’s  beautiful  poem  of  the  “ Beleaguered  City,” 
founded  on  an  old  tradition  of  an  army  of  the  dead, 
that  once  encamped  around  the  walls  of  Prague.  The 
vision  seemed  to  be  realized  to  us  as  we  entered  the  city. 


THE  OLD  BRIDGE  OF  PRAGUE. 


195 


A thousand  shadowy  forms  rose  up  from  the  valley  of 
the  Moldau,  and  the  hillsides  were  covered  with  snowy 
tents  and  gleaming  banners.  And  when  I stood  upon 
the  old  bridge  which  has  played  such  a part  in  the  many 
sieges  and  stormings  of  Prague,  I found  myself  repeating 
the  lines  of  Campbell,  which  picture  one  of  these  mur- 
derous scenes : 

“ On  Prague’s  proud  arch  the  fires  of  ruin  glow, 

Its  blood-dyed  waters  murmuring  far  below.” 

This  bridge  is  perhaps  the  best  point  from  which  to 
take  a view  of  the  city,  as  it  joins  the  two  sides  of  the 
town,  and  one  standing  on  its  central  arch,  surveys  the 
whole.  The  bridge  itself  is  worthy  of  notice,  as  one  of 
the  oldest  and  grandest  monuments  of  Prague.  It  is 
the  longest  bridge  in  Germany,  longer  even  than  that 
which  spans  the  Elbe  at  Dresden.  Five  hundred  years 
ago — in  1358 — were  its  solid  abutments  laid  in  their 
watery  bed.  Since  that  time  it  has  witnessed  many 
scenes  which  have  given  it  at  once  a historical  and  reli- 
gious interest.  Here  old  John  of  Hepomuk,  the  patron 
saint  of  Prague,  obtained  the  honors  of  martyrdom. 
For  in  times  long  ago  it  was  his  misfortune  to  be  father 
confessor  to  a queen  who  confided  to  him  some  secrets 
of  her  life,  which  the  king,  in  great  wrath,  demanded  to 
know.  But  the  good  man  held  his  peace.  Wherefore 
the  king  brought  him  to  this  bridge,  and  pitched  him 
over  the  parapet  into  the  river.  His  body  sunk,  but  for 


196 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


three  days  miraculous  flames  burned  over  the  spot.  This 
of  course  was  enough  to  make  him  a saint,  and  he  is  now 
regarded  by  the  people  with  religious  veneration.  His 
shrine  in  the  cathedral  is  one  of  the  richest  in  the  world, 
and  every  year,  on  the  anniversary  of  his  death,  pilgrims 
flock  to  the  sacred  spot,  sometimes  to  the  number  of 
eighty  thousand,  and  for  several  days  the  bridge  is  so 
blocked  up  ' h the  kneeling  crowds  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  pass. 

The  morning  after  we  reached  the  city,  we  took  a 
carriage  and  a guide  for  the  day,  and  began  our  explora- 
tions. Our  first  visit  was  to  the  ancient  Jewish  synagogue 
and  cemetery.  Prague  contains  the  oldest  colony  of 
Jews  in  Europe.  Indeed,  they  claim  that  it  was  founded 
here  before  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.  For  centu- 
ries they  were  subjected  to  the  greatest  oppression  and 
cruelty.  But  here  they  have  remained,  clinging  to  the 
spot  with  a tenacity  which  no  persecutions  could  destroy, 
and  here  they  have  preserved  more  strictly  than  in  other 
cities  the  peculiar  customs  of  their  people.  It  was 
therefore  with  strange  curiosity  that  w^e  drove  first  to 
the  Jewish  quarter  of  the  town,  to  visit  the  old  syna- 
gogue and  cemetery. 

But  whatever  of  romantic  or  sacred  interest  may  be 
connected  with  this  people,  is  apt  to  receive  a pretty 
rude  shock  in  entering  the  Jews’  Quarter  of  one  of  the 
continental  cities.  The  sons  of  Israel  are  not  a clean 
people.  They  are  born  to  dirt  as  the  sparks  fly  upward. 


THE  JEWS’  QUARTER. 


197 


The  Jews’  Quarter  always  looks  like  a rag-fair.  Old 
clothes  flout  in  the  faces  of  the  passer-by,  as  if  they 
were  the  very  flags  and  ensigns  of  the  chosen  people. 
The  children  of  the  prophets  delight  in  narrow  streets, 
which  are  choked  up  with  braying  donkeys,  bawling 
men,  and  screeching  women. 

We  drew  up  at  the  door  of  the  synagogue,  which  is 
said  to  be  eight  or  nine  hundred  years  old.  It  looks  as 
if  it  might  date  from  the  time  of  Abraham.  It  stands 
in  the  centre  of  the  Jews’  Quarter,  surrounded  by  a maze 
of  narrow  streets,  so  choked  up  with  the  dust  of  centu- 
ries that  they  are  raised  several  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  synagogue,  so  that  to  enter  it  is  like  going  down 
into  a vault.  The  interior  is  dark  and  dingy.  In  some 
of  their  festivals  the  Jews  burn  lamps  and  torches  with- 
out ceasing,  day  and  night,  so  that  the  walls  become 
blackened  with  smoke.  Yet  their  idea  of  sacredness 
will  not  allow  the  place  to  be  cleaned.  Whoso  should 
lift  up  his  hand  upon  it  would  pollute  it.  So  it  remains 
from  generation  to  generation,  venerable  with  age  and 
dirt,  faintly  illumined  with  that  u dim,  religious  light  ” 
which  sentimental  tvorshippers  so  much  delight  in.  To 
worship  here  is  indeed  to  sit  down  in  sackcloth  and 
ashes.  After  this  description  our  lady  readers  will  per- 
haps not  count  it  a great  privation  that  they  are  not  per- 
mitted to  enter  this  sacred  place,  but  are  obliged  to  hear 
the  reading  of  the  law  through  low  arches,  which  open 
into  a corridor  outside. 


198 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Yet  this  dilapidated  old  crypt  has  its  treasures — in  its 
sacred  vessels  and  its  tapestry  of  cloth  of  gold  to  cover 
the  holy  shrine.  These  are  the  gifts  of  wealthy  Israel- 
ites of  other  lands. 

Here  in  Prague,  for  a long  time,  the  J ews  were  not 
permitted  to  live  outside  of  a certain  quarter.  But  now 
that  rule  has  been  relaxed  in  favor  of  the  wealthy  Jews, 
who  have  their  fine  town  houses  and  country  seats. 
Yet  though  the  laws  against  them  are  repealed  or  are  a 
dead  letter,  and  though  they  may  attain  a high  commer- 
cial position,  strange  to  say,  the  antipathy  of  race  and 
religion  which  exists  towards  them,  is  almost  as  strong 
as  ever.  They  are  still  a proscribed  caste.  Surely,  was 
there  ever  a people  so  smitten  of  God  as  this  wandering 
and  outcast  race  ? 

There  is  something  inexpressibly  mournful  in  this  mix- 
ture of  glory  and  degradation.  Who  can  behold  with- 
out pity  and  grief  a people  once  so  great  and  now  so 
abject  ? To  me  there  is  something  sad  in  their  very  look. 
They  have  a wildness  in  their  gaze  which  they  seem 
to  have  brought  with  them  out  of  the  desert,  a startled 
and  inquiring  look,  as  if  for  ages  their  eyes  had  been 
peering  into  the  future,  looking  for  the  Messiah  which 
was  to  come.  And  how  they  cling  to  the  memories  of 
the  glory  of  ancient  Israel ! W e passed  by  a hospital  pro- 
vided for  their  aged  and  infirm,  and  saw  through  the 
window  a group  of  poor,  old  creatures,  sitting  on 
benches,  swaying  their  bodies  to  and  fro  like  so  many 


TUE  CATHEDRAL. 


l'J9 


howling  Dervishes,  muttering  their  Hebrew  prayers, 
and  singing  in  a vdld  chant  the  same  victorious  psalms 
which  their  fathers  sung  on  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea 
when  the  Lord  brought  them  out  of  the  house  of  bond- 
age. 

Hard  by  the  synagogue  is  the  Jewish  burying-ground 
— another  place  of  pilgrimage  for  the  people  of  the  Lord. 
Here,  under  humble  stones,  covered  with  moss,  lies  the 
dust  of  men  famed  in  all  the  world  for  learning  and  for 
saintly  virtues,  old  Rabbis  and  Masters  in  Israel,  who, 
after  waiting  in  vain  for  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  fell 
asleep  in  darkness.  Many  of  the  tombs  are  marked  by 
the  symbols  of  their  tribes.  Hither  come  pilgrims  from, 
all  parts  of  Europe,  treading  their  way  with  weary  feet, 
that  they  may  kneel,  and  weep,  and  pray  at  the  tomb 
of  the  fathers  of  their  people.  They  leave  behind  little 
pebbles,  placed  upon  the  tombs  by  respectful  hands,  the 
poor  tokens  of  their  love  and  veneration. 

From  these  memorials  of  ruin  and  decay  we  turn  at 
once  to  princely  halls  and  imperial  grandeur.  Across 
the  Moldau,  on  the  brow  of  a hill  which  rears  its  head 
erect  and  lofty  as  the  castled  crag  of  Edinburgh,  stands 
the  vast  pile  of  the  Hradschin,  the  palace  of  the  ancient 
Bohemian  kings.  Our  horses  had  a hard  pull  up  the 
steep  ascent.  At  length  wre  wdieeled  around  upon  the 
summit,  which  commands  a view  of  the  wrhole  city  be- 
neath, and  of  the  valley  for  miles.  Here  stands  the 
cathedral — a structure  that  wras  intended  to  be  very 


200 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


magnificent,  but  that  never  reached  its  full  proportions, 
and  whose  actual  grandeur  has  been  shattered  by  the 
storm  of  war.  Over  its  head  flew  the  bombs  of  Frederic 
the  Great,  and  its  sacred  roof  did  not  escape.  In  fact, 
the  great  captain  found  the  high  tower  an  excellent  tar- 
get for  his  guns,  and  told  his  artillerists  to  point  their 
cannon  against  it.  The  very  first  shot  struck  it,  and  dur- 
ing the  siege  two  hundred  and  fifteen  balls  passed 
through  the  roof,  and  in  the  end  the  church  received 
more  than  fifteen  hundred!  One  of  these  balls  still 
hangs  in  the  church,  as  a memorial  of  the  fiery  ordeal 
through  which  it  passed. 

But  the  cathedral  is  especially  interesting  for  its  treas- 
ures. Here  is  the  rich  shrine  of  St.  John  Nepomuk,  the 
tomb  and  its  ornaments  containing  nearly  two  tons  of 
silver ! But  even  this  is  less  precious  than  the  bones  of 
Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  which  are  here  kept  for  the 
wonder  of  the  faithful,  and  the  pocket  handkerchief  of 
the  Virgin  Mary ! 

The  palace  is  interesting  rather  from  its  historical 
associations  than  from  its  architectural  grandeur.  It  is 
a vast  range  of  buildings — being  larger  than  the  palace 
at  Vienna.  It  was  the  residence  of  the  Bohemian  kings, 
and  when  their  country  passed  under  the  power  of  Aus- 
tria, here  were  devised  plots  against  Bohemian  liberty. 
In  the  front  of  the  palace  is  a hall  of  council  where  met 
the  advisers  of  Ferdinand  II.,  and  where  they  were 
startled  one  day  by  the  appearance  of  a body  of  depu- 


PALACE  OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  KINGS. 


201 


ties,  who  burst  into  the  room,  demanding  that  they 
should  cease  from  their  plots  against  the  nation;  and 
who,  finding  no  redress,  seized  two  of  the  boldest  and 
pitched  them  out  of  the  window,  a distance  of  eighty 
feet.  Their,  lives  were  saved,  somewhat  in  gloriously,  by 
falling  on  a dunghill.  This  act  of  popular  violence  was 
the  beginning  of  the  Thirty  Years’  War.  In  the  same 
room  we  were  shown  the  table  on  wdiich,  at  the  close  of 
that  war,  was  signed  the  Treaty  of  Westphalia. 

Of  late  this  old  palace  seems  to  be  devoted  to  de- 
funct royalties.  Here,  Charles  X.,  after  being  driven 
from  France,  passed  the  poor  remnant  of  his  days,  and 
here  now  resides  that  old  granny,  the  late  Emperor  Fer- 
dinand. I would  not  speak  evil  of  dignities,  but  every- 
body knows  that  the  late  sovereign  of  Austria  is  half  an 
idiot,  who  hardly  knows  enough  to  go  in  the  house  when 
it  rains,  and  as  in  1848,  the  year  of  revolutions,  it 
rained  very  hard,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but 
to  make  a rapid  retreat.  Here  he  spends  his  days 
chiefly  in  mumbling  prayers  to  the  Virgin.  His  queen 
finds  it  pretty  dull  business,  and  so  she  goes  off  to 
Vienna  or  to  Italy,  to  enjoy  herself  as  well  as  she  can. 

At  present  the  ancient  Bohemian  liberties  are  pretty 
effectually  extinguished.  The  young  Emperor  of  Aus- 
tria, I believe,  has  not  taken  the  trouble  to  be  crowned 
King  of  Bohemia,  nor  King  of  Hungary.  Both  king- 
doms are  absorbed  in  the  one  great  Empire.  Yet  here 
are  elements  which  do  not  readily  coalesce.  The  Bohe- 

9* 


202 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


mians  are  not  Germans.  Of  the  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand inhabitants  of  Prague,  more  than  half  are  native 
Bohemians,  who  cherish  a lively  remembrance  of  their 
grand  national  history.  Nor  can  they  easily  submit  to 
the  ‘rule  of  the  foreigner.  As  I wander  about  these 
streets,  and  listen  to  the  music  of  the  military  bands, 
which  is  celebrated^  throughout  Europe  for  its  plaintive 
character,  it  seems  as  if  the  voice  of  the  nation  found 
utterance  in  these  wild  airs ; as  if  they  were  mourning 
for  the  glorious  days  of  Huss  and  of  Ziska. 


CHAPTER  XY. 


Protestantism  in  Bohemia — Early  Reformation — John  IIuss — 
The  University  of  Prague — Huss  burnt  at  Constance — The 
Wars  wmcn  followed — Blind  Ziska — The  Thirty  Years’  War 
— Wallenstein — Present  State  of  Protestantism  in  Bohemia. 

The  saddest  tiling  which  I behold  in  the  streets  of 
Prague,  is — not  the  Austrian  soldiers,  nor  the  downcast 
Jews — but  the  decline  and  almost  utter  extinction  of 
Protestantism.  No  country  in  Europe  acted  a more  con- 
spicuous part  in  the  early  Reformation  than  Bohemia. 
Nearly  five  hundred  years  ago,  the  first  dawn  of  that 
day  which  was  to  spread  over  half  of  Europe,  touched 
almost  at  the  same  time  the  mountains  of  Bohemia  and 
the  white  cliffs  of  England.  These  two  countries  were 
then  closely  connected  by  marriage  of  royal  houses,  and 
by  the  ties  of  learning  and  a common  faith.  In  England, 
Wickliffe  had  begun  to  teach  the  pure  faith  of  the  Gos- 
pel, and  among  those  who  read  his  writings,  and  caught 
his  spirit,  was  the  future  apostle  and  martyr  of  Bohemia, 
John  Huss.  A hundred  years  before  Luther  stirred  the 
heart  of  Germany,  a voice  like  that  of  John  the  Baptist 
— the  voice  ^of  one  crying  in  the  wilderness — was  heard 
on  the  banks  of  the  Moldau,  preaching  repentance  for 

203 


204 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  remission  of  sins.  Before  the  monk  of  Wittenberg 
gave  to  the  millions  who  speak  the  German  tongue,  his 
translation  of  the  Bible,  the  Bohemians  had  seven  trans- 
lations of  their  own ! Here  then,  in  the  far  East  of 
Europe,  the  Reformation  had  its  first  dawn,  and  alas  ! its 
earliest  night. 

The  Reformed  doctrines,  taking  root  in  Bohemia,  found 
their  stronghold  in  the  University  of  Prague.  This  was 
the  first  institution  of  the  kind  established  in  Germany. 
It  was  founded  five  hundred  years  ago,  after  the  model 
of  the  University  of  Paris,  and  attained  a rapid  growth, 
attracting  students  not  only  from  the  East  and  N orth  of 
Europe,  but  from  the  farthest  West.  Young  men  came 
here  from  England  to  obtain  those  advantages  of  learn- 
ing which  they  could  not  find  in  their  own  country. 
When  Oxford  was  yet  an  obscure  college,  Prague  was  in 
its  glory.  At  one  time  it  is  said  to  have  contained 
40,000  students!  When  it  was  in  its  zenith,  Huss  was 
Rector  of  the  University,  and  at  the  head  of  such  an 
army,  he  wielded  immense  power. 

But  the  great  Reformer  was  sometimes  a little  violent. 
He  endeavored  to  give  certain  exclusive  rights  to  the 
Bohemians,  to  the  prejudice  of  other  nations.  And  this 
measure,  it  is  said,  caused  25,000  students  to  secede  in  a 
single  week  ! This  great  secession,  however,  was  not  a 
total  loss  to  the  cause  of  learning,  for  as  they  scattered 
themselves  in  other  countries,  they  carried  with  them  the 
germ  of  other  institutions,  and  from  the  seed  thus  sown 


IIUSS  BUKNT  AT  CONSTANCE. 


205 


sprang  the  Universities  of  Leipsic,  Heidelberg,  and 
Cracow. 

While  IIuss  lived,  though  the  spirit  of  controversy 
ran  high,  it  did  not  break  out  into  open  war.  But  his 
life  was  terminated  by  treachery.  By  a promise  of  a 
safe  conduct  from  the  Emperor  Sigismund,  he  was  lured 
to  the  Council  of  Constance,  and  there,  on  that  fatal 
summer’s  day,  July  6,  1415,  this  Bohemian  Apostle  and 
Reformer  was  burnt  at  the  stake.  The  news  soon  flew 
to  Prague,  and  excited  the  wildest  grief  and  indignation. 
From  that  moment  it  was  impossible  to  restrain  the  rage 
of  his  followers.  They  met  in  frequent  conclave,  brood- 
ing over  the  foul  act  of  treachery  and  murder,  and  vowing 
vengeance  against  their  persecutors.  They  mustered 
their  strength,  and  appeared  in  the  streets  in  armed  array. 
They  had  a leader,  who  made  them  doubly  formidable, 
in  their  blind  Samson,  Ziska.  And  as  they  assembled  in 
the  square  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall,  their  ranks  glitter- 
ing with  pikes,  they  presented  a fierce  and  threatening 
aspect.  In  truth  they  had  been  goaded  into  a savage 
temper,  which  waited  only  an  opportunity  to  break  out 
into  acts  of  violence.  The  occasion  was  not  long  want- 
ing. In  1419,  they  were  marching  through  the  city,  and 
passed  under  the  windows  of  the  Town  Hall,  when  some 
rash  hand  threw  a stone  at  them.  This  was  the  spark 
that  produced  the  explosion.  Enraged  at  the  insult,  they 
burst  into  the  council  chamber,  and  seizing  thirteen  Ger- 
man councillors,  they  hurled  them  out  of  the  window. 


206 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


They  fell  upon  the  pikes  of  the  crowd  beneath,  and  wero 
instantly  put  to  death.  Thus  the  murder  of  Huss  was 
answered  by  blood  for  blood,  and  this  sudden  massacre 
was  but  the  prelude  to  a more  terrible  retribution. 

The  next  year  the  war  broke  out  in  earnest.  The 
storm-bell  on  the  Town  Hall  tolled  its  alarm,  and  the 
Hussites,  gathering  by  thousands,  filled  the  square  with 
a black,  surging,  excited  multitude.  The  time  had  come 
for  action.  Involved  in  rebellion,  the  whole  force  of  the 
empire  would  soon  be  upon  them.  But  it  would  not  do 
to  await  the  attack  in  the  city.  Half  a mile  outside  the 
walls  rises  a hill  which  overlooks  the  town.  Here  was 
the  position  for  defence.  To  this  eminence  Ziska  led  out 
his  pikemen,  and  here  he  was  followed  by  crowds,  not 
only  of  men,  but  of  women  and  children,  who  all  worked 
together  upon  the  intrenchments.  Soon  the  Hussite 
chief  had  a fortified  camp,  and  an  organized  army,  with 
which  he  bade  defiance  to  the  emperor,  who  came 
against  him  "with  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  men ; 
and  at  length,  descending  from  his  heights,  he  defeated 
him  in  a pitched  battle. 

How  freshly  did  these  memories  of  Prague  revive,  as 
I stood  at  the  window  of  the  palace  of  the  Hradschin, 
and  looked  across  the  valley  of  the  Moldau  to  the  hill 
which  still  bears  the  name  of  the  blind  hero — the  Ziska- 
berg ! Though  the  cause  which  he  fought  for  was  at 
last  borne  down  in  the  tide  of  war,  still  they  keep  his 
memory  here,  as  one  of  the  giants  of  their  race.  In  tho 


HISTORY  OF  THE  REFORMATION  IN  BOHEMIA.  207 


museum  they  keep  with  religious  care  a letter  traced  by 
that  iron  hand — which  is  the  most  precious  relic  they 
have,  next  to  an  autograph  of  Huss  himself — and  an  old 
portrait  preserves  the  stern  features  which  glowed  so 
fiercely  in  the  front  of  battle. 

After  wre  had  explored  Prague  pretty  thoroughly, 
and  had  enough  of  churches  and  palaces,  I asked  our 
guide  to  take  me  to  the  place  where  John  Huss  lived. 
The  house  is  no  longer  standing,  but  tradition  preserves 
the  spot  in  the  Bethlehem  Platz — a humble  place  which 
no  pilgrims  seek  except  those  from  foreign  countries,  yet 
which  was  more  sacred  to  me  than  the  silver  shrine  of 
John  of  Nepomuk. 

Since  coming  to  Prague,  I have  felt  more  than  ever 
the  want  of  a good  history  of  the  Bohemian  Reforma- 
tion. I have  inquired  for  such  a work,  but  cannot  find 
that  there  is  one  in  existence,  at  least  in  the  English 
language.  Nor  do  I learn  of  any  in  French  or  German, 
that  is  quite  what  is  wanted.  Yet,  after  all,  if  one  were 
produced,  I am  half  in  doubt  if  there  is  sufficient  histo- 
rical interest,  at  least  in  our  country,  to  sustain  its  pub- 
lication. A friend  in  America,  who  is  a thorough  scholar 
and  an  unwearied  student  of  history,  spent  five  years  in 
going  over  this  very  period,  and  prepared  a work  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  him  and  to  our  country,  but 
wrhen  he  applied  to  a ptiblisher,  he  w~as  told  that  it  wTas 
too  long  (it  made  tw'O  duodecimo  volumes),  and  that  if 
he  wrould  cut  out  half  of  it,  it  perhaps  might  do ! A 


208 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


glorious  reward  and  encouragement  to  historical  investi- 
gation ! And  yet  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  a period 
of  history  of  deeper  interest,  more  crowded  with  great 
characters  and  stirring  events. 

The  struggle  of  the  Reformed  faith  with  the  old 
Church  in  Bohemia  lasted  for  two  stormy  centuries.  A 
hundred  years  after  Luther,  the  battle  was  not  yet 
ended.  Then  begins  another  great  drama,  with  all  Eu- 
rope for  its  stage,  and  many  nations  for  actors — the 
Thirty  Years’  War — a period  full  of  exciting  events,  of 
battles  and  sieges ; in  which  at  times  the  whole  sky  of 
Germany  seems  to  redden  with  the  blaze  of  desolated 
fields  and  burning  cities.  The  interest  of  this  period 
gathers  chiefly  around  the  two  great  characters  of  the 
age — Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  Christian  hero  of  the 
north,  and  the  haughty  and  implacable  Wallenstein, 
whom  Schiller  has  chosen  as  a subject  most  fit  both  for 
history  and  for  tragedy,  and  whose  stern  figure  he  has 
made  to  stand  out  conspicuous  on  the  dark  background 
of  that  bloody  time.  Wallenstein  lived  in  Prague,  and 
his  palace  is  one  of  the  sights  shown  to  all  travellers. 
That  sombre  figure  seemed  to  rise  again  as  we  trod 
those  halls  where  he  held  his  court  with  more  than  impe- 
rial splendor,  and  thought  of  his  greatness  and  his  fall, 
of  his . deep-laid  conspiracies,  masked  by  outward  calm- 
ness, of  his  high-soaring  ambition,  and  of  his  bloody 
end. 

But  the  fate  of  Protestantism  was  decided  long  before 


PROTESTANTISM  EXTERMINATED. 


209 


the  death  of  Wallenstein.  In  fact,  its  downfall  dates 
almost  from  the  beginning  of  the  war.  That  broke  out  in 
1618.  Two  years  after,  the  hostile  armies  were  brought 
face  to  face  three  miles  from  the  walls  of  Prague. 
That  day  was  fought  the  battle  of  the  White  Hill, 
and  when  the  sun  went  down,  Protestantism  in  Bohemia 
was  overthrown.  The  Elector  Frederick,  who  had  been 
chosen  king,  w'as  driven  from  his  throne,  and  the  ancient 
kingdom  of  Bohemia  passed  forever  under  the  dominion 
of  the  emperors  of  Austria.  That  fatal  victory  was  fol- 
lowed by  terrible  scenes.  A year  after,  when  confidence 
w^as  in  some  degree  restored,  and  many  had  returned  to 
their  homes,  suddenly  the  Protestant  leaders  wTere  seized 
and  brought  before  a military  tribunal.  Twenty-seven 
of  the  noblest  and  best,  eight  great  officers  and  nobles, 
fourteen  councillors,  and  a host  of  inferior  persons,  were 
brought  to  the  scaffold.  The  heads  and  hands  of  those 
of  noble  birth  were  cut  off  and  stuck  up  on  the  gate 
tower  of  the  bridge.  Thus  the  Reformation  in  Bohemia 
was  drowned  in  blood. 

But  there  was  yet  a vial  of  judgments  to  be  poured 
out  upon  the  kingdom  of  the  oppressor.  “ In  the  hand 
of  the  Lord  there  is  a cup,  and  the  wfine  is  red ; the 
dregs  thereof,  the  wficked  shall  wring  them  out  and 
drink  them.”  Though  Protestantism  never  recovered 
from  this  fatal  blow,  yet  the  cup  which  the  tyrant  gave 
to  others  to  drink,  was  again  and  again  pressed  to  his 
own  lips.  The  war  was  not  ended  wfith  the  success  of  a 


210 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


f 

* 


single  battle.  For  more  than  a quarter  of  a century  it 
raged  in  every  part  of  Europe,  and  desolated  liis  own 
dominions.  Once  Prague  was  captured  by  the  Elector 
of  Saxony.  And  again,  at  the  very  close  of  the  war,  in 
1648,  it  was  besieged  and  bombarded  by  the  Swedes  for 
fourteen  weeks. 

Nor  was  it  merely  Protestant  blood  which  flowed  on 
that  public  square  in  front  of  the  City  Hall.  Here  Wal- 
lenstein returned  like  a hunted  lion,  after  the  battle  of 
Lutzen ; in  which,  though  his  great  rival  and  enemy, 
Gustavus  Adolphus,  was  stretched  upon  a bloody  bier, 
yet  even  in  dying  he  had  struck  terror  into  the  hearts 
of  his  foes,  and  the  Imperial  battalions  had  shrunk  in 
dismay  before  his  last  charge.  Enraged  at  his  defeat, 
the  iron-hearted  Wallenstein  caused  the  strictest  inquiry 
to  be  made  into  the  conduct  of  his  officers,  and  eleven 
of  noble  birth,  besides  many  of  inferior  rank,  who  had 
shown  cowardice,  were  executed  without  mercy.  Does 
it  not  seem  like  a retribution  of  God  that  this  inexorable 
leader  at  last  perished  by  the  hand  of  the  assassin ! 

At  present,  Protestantism  in  Bohemia  may  be  almost 
said  to  be  exterminated.  In  the  city  of  John  Huss 
there  are  now  but  two  Protestant  churches,  while  there 
are  55  Catholic  churches  and  chapels,  11  monasteries,  4 
nunneries,  and  10  synagogues! 

Yet  behold  the  compensations  of  Providence ! God 
holds  the  scales  with  an  even  hand,  and  the  loss  or  the 
disaster  incurred  in  one  part  of  his  great  kingdom,  is 


THE  WHITE  HILL  AND  PLYMOUTH  KOCK.  211 


sometimes  repaired  by  a gain  at  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
Do  not  think  me  a vain  American  because  my  thoughts, 
even  at  this  distance,  return  so  frequently  to  my  own 
country.  But  there  I find  compensation  for  all  our 
losses  in  Europe.  The  battle  of  the  White  Hill  was 
fought  in  1620 — the  very  year  in  which  the  Pilgrims 
sailed  for  New  England!  It  was  fought  on  the  8th  of 
November.  The  Pilgrims  landed  at  Plymouth,  Decem- 
ber 22d.  Thus,  at  the  very  time  that  the  pure  faith  was 
driven  from  its  ancient  seats  in  the  Old  World,  God  was 
preparing  for  it  a broader  empire  on  the  shores  of  the 
New. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 


Vienna — Contrast  with  Berlin — The  Imperial  City — Historical 
Associations — Tombs  of  the  Emperors — Maria  Theresa — The 
Son  of  Napoleon — The  Present  Royal  Family — The  Govern- 
ment— Failure  of  the  Revolution  of  1848 — Result  of  the 
War  in  Hungary — Signs  of  Progress. 

There  could  not  be  a greater  contrast  between  two 
cities,  than  that  between  the  two  chief  capitals  of  Ger- 
many. The  one  is  broad  and  flat  and  rectangular,  with 
streets  as  interminable  and  dreary  as  German  meta- 
physics; the  other  stands  thick  with  tall  houses  inter- 
locked like  lovers’  arms,  and  narrow  streets  that  go  wind- 
ing round  and  round  like  a troupe  of  Viennese  waltzers, 
whirling  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance.  Beyond  the  walls 
of  Vienna,  instead  of  the  barren  plain,  which  surrounds 
Berlin,  the  eye  rests  with  delight  on  a rich  valley  sloping 
upwards  to  wooded  hills,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  land- 
scape, in  place  of  the  small  and  stagnant  Spree,  trailing 
its  slow  course  through  the  sand,  is  seen  the  dark-rolling 
Danube,  pouring  its  majestic  flood  of  waters  to  the  Black 
Sea. 

The  associations,  too,  are  all  different.  Berlin  is  raw 
212 


VIENNA CONTRAST  WITII  BERLIN. 


213 


and  new,  Vienna  old  and  venerable.  With  a lofty  dis- 
dain, the  tower  of  St.  Stephen’s  looks  down  on  the  low, 
plastered  houses  of  the  Prussian  capital.  Vienna  is  the 
Imperial  city,  the  royal  house  of  Austria  claiming  to  be 
the  successors  of  the  Roman  Emperors,  while  the  Prus- 
sian monarchy  itself  is  but  an  upstart  among  the  dynas- 
ties of  Europe — only  possessing  a royal  title  from  the 
beginning  of  the  last  century,  when  a vain  elector  of 
Brandenburg  at  last  obtained  what  had  been  the  great 
object  of  his  ambition  all  his  life — the  empty  title  of 
a king,  and  was  rewarded  for  his  pains,  like  other  up- 
starts, who  step  out  of  their  place,  by  being  obliged  to 
endure  innumerable  mortifications,  and  by  being  snubbed 
by  all  his  royal  brethren.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until  the 
great  Frederick  became  at  once  the  wonder  and  terror  of 
Europe,  that  the  nations  acknowledged  that  there  was  a 
king  in  the  Prussian  Israel,  and  monarchs  grew  civil  to 
one  who  asked  no  consent  of  theirs  to  confirm  his  title  to 
a regal  crown. 

I£rom  that  time,  Prussia  became  a great  military  mon- 
archy, yet  Berlin  has  no  stirring  memories  of  battles  and 
sieges,  which  make  it  historic  ground.  Several  times, 
indeed,  it  has  been  in  possession  of  an  enemy,  in  the 
Seven  Years’  War,  and  after  the  battle  of  Jena,  when  the 
Imperial  guards  of  Napoleon  poured  through  the  broad 
streets  of  the  conquered  capital.  But  no  great  battle  by 
which  the  fate  of  nations  is  decided,  has  ever  been  fought 
around  its  walls.  But  Vienna  for  hundreds  of  years  has 


214 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


been  one  of  the  great  military  centres  of  Europe. 
Standing  on  the  confines  of  the  great  Moslem  power,  it 
has  been  a bulwark  of  Christendom  against  the  Turk. 
More  than  once  the  sentinels  keeping  watch  in  the  tower 
of  St.  Stephen’s  have  descried  the  white  tents  of  the 
Turkish  hosts  gleaming  miles  away  along  the  plains  of 
the  Danube.  Here  the  wave  of  Moslem  fanaticism  roll- 
ing upward  from  the  Bosphorus,  was  checked  by  this 
strong  barrier.  Against  these  walls  the  torrent  broke, 
and  thus  was  Europe  delivered  forever  from  fear  of  being 
overrun  by  the  Tartar  hordes  who  had  conquered  By- 
zantium. 

From  the  same  watch-tower,  Austrian  sentinels  have 
beheld  other  invaders.  There,  but  fifty  years  ago,  brave 
but  trembling  hearts  watched  with  unutterable  anguish 
the  carnage  of  Essling,  of  Aspern,  and  of  Wagram,  and 
saw  the  bombs  of  Napoleon  flying  like  a shower  of  stars 
over  the  Imperial  capital. 

Vienna  is  a city  within  a city — the  inner  portion  being 
girdled  by  a circle  of  bastions  which  were  blown  up  by 
Napoleon,  and  have  since  been  laid  out  in  a succession 
of  terraces,  which  are  the  favorite  promenade  of  the  gay 
population.  We  have  our  lodgings  in  the  Hotel  Munsch, 
which  is  in  the  heart  of  the  old  town,  and  close  to  all 
the  most  interesting  monuments.  But  a few  rods  distant 
is  the  palace  of  the  emperor.  From  our  windows  we 
look  down  upon  a plain  old  church,  which  would  hardly 
arrest  the  eye  were  it  not  that  it  is  the  burial-place  of 


TOMBS  OF  THE  EMPERORS. 


215 


the  royal  house  of  Austria.  Let  us  cross  the  square,  and 
enter  that  crypt,  filled  with  the  tombs  of  a long  line  of 
emperors.  It  is  the  Church  of  the  Capuchins,  and  a 
brother  of  the  Order  leads  the  way  with  a lighted  torch, 
down  into  that  Royal  House  of  Death.  In  all  Europe, 
there  is  hardly  a spot  more  suggestive  of  solemn  thought, 
unless  it  be  the  burial-place  *of  the  Popes,  under  Saint 
Peter’s,  at  Rome.  Hush ! let  us  walk  softly  from  monu- 
ment to  monument.  We  steal  along  the  vault,  startled 
at  our  own  muffled  footfall  in  that  dim  and  gloomy  place, 
and  as  the  torch  of  the  old  monk  throws  its  glare  on  one 
and  another  sarcophagus  of  bronze  or  silver,  he  whispers 
the  names  of  monarchs  whose  deeds  have  filled  the 
world. 

Before  one  proud  mausoleum  we  pause,  for  it  contains 
the  ashes  of  Maria  Theresa,  that  lion-hearted  queen, 
whose  title  to  the  throne,  secured  by  the  famous  Prag- 
matic Sanction,  and  acknowledged  by  all  Europe,  was 
rudely  disputed  by  Frederick  the  Great,  but  who  in  that 
hour  of  trial  showed  herself  a true  daughter  of  the  Caesars 
— the  bravest  of  her  race.  Who  could  stand  beside 
this  silent  tomb,  without  recalling  that  thrilling  moment 
when  the  young  empress-queen  fled  to  Hungary,  and 
appeared  in  the  Diet,  clad  in  deep  mourning  for  her 
father,  and  implored  that  brave  people  to  support  her 
cause ; and  when  the  whole  assembly  sprang  to  their 
feet,  and  grasped  their  swords,  and  vowed  to  stand  by 
her  with  their  lives  ? “ Till  then,”  says  Macaulay,  “ her 


216 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


firmness  had  never  once  forsaken  her  before  the  public 
eye,  but  at  that  shout  she  sank  down  upon  her  throne  and 
wept  aloud.  Still  more  touching  was  the  sight,  when,  a 
few  days  later,  she  came  before  the  estates  of  her  realm, 
and  held  up  before  them  the  little  Archduke  in  her  arms. 
Then  it  "was  that  the  enthusiasm  of  Hungary  broke  forth 
in  that  war-cry  which  soon  resounded  throughout  Eu- 
rope : 4 Let  us  die  for  our  king,  Maria  Theresa !’  ” 

It  is  much  to  add,  that  this  heroic  queen  was  also  a 
pure  and  noble  woman — a faithful  wife  and  mother. 
Here  on  this  mausoleum  lies,  in  bronze,  another  form.  It 
is  Francis  of  Lorraine,  her  beloved  husband.  He  pre- 
ceded her  to  the  grave,  and  for  thirteen  long  years,  on 
every  Friday,  this  pious  queen  descended  into  this  vault, 
here  to  weep  and  pray  at  his  tomb.  At  last  her 
hour  came,  and  they  laid  her  beside  the  one  she  so  much 
loved.  They  were  faithful  to  each  other  in  life,  and  in 
death  they  were  not  divided. 

Still  look  around.  There  sleeps  the  Emperor  Francis, 
who  reigned  over  Austria  in  those  troubled  days  when 
the  whole  of  Europe  was  shaken  by  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, and  the  Imperial  armies  were  so  often  defeated  and 
destroyed.  This  is  the  man  w ho  stood  beside  Alexander 
of  Russia,  upon  a hill-top  of  Moravia,  and  saw7  the  awTul 
carnage  of  Austerlitz  ; and  who  afterwards  gave  his  own 
daughter  to  the  conqueror  that  had  humbled  his  proud 
monarchy  to  the  dust.  And  where  is  she,  the  Iphigenia 
sacrificed  to  propitiate  the  destroyer?  Joined  to  her 


THE  SON  OF  NAPOLEON. 


217 


father  in  death,  lies  the  body  of  Maria  Louisa,  and  near 
to  that  mother’s  side  is  a slender  coffin  which  contains  a 
youthful  form.  This  is  the  son  of  Napoleon — that  son 
who  was  the  hope  of  his  father,  and  the  object  of  so  many 
ambitious  schemes.  What  strange  extremes  does  it  sug- 
gest ! I thought  of  the  day  when  an  anxious  group  of 
ministers  of  state  and  foreign  ambassadors,  met  at  the 
Tuileries,  in  expectation  of  the  birth  of  an  heir  to  the  throne 
of  France;  when  for  a time  the  life  of  the  Empress  trem- 
bled in  the  balance,  but  at  last  a child  was  born,  that 
was  supposed  to  be  dead,  but  soon  awoke  to  utter  a 
feeble  cry — a sound  at  which  the  Great  Napoleon,  the 
conqueror  of  the  world,  wTent  up  and  down  the  apart- 
ment weeping  for  joy,  and  saying,  “ It  is  a King  of  Rome !” 
and  the  cannon  of  the  Invalides  thundered  forth  the  tid- 
ings to  Paris,  that  hailed  it  with  acclamations.  Then  I 
thought  of  another  day,  when  in  the  palace  at  Schon- 
brunn,  in  the  very  apartment  occupied  by  his  father,  that 
mother  was  kneeling  by  a bed  of  death,  and  that  son,  the 
object  of  so  much  hope,  was  breathing  out  his  soul  to 
God.  Does  it  not  seem  like  a just  retribution  of  Heaven 
on  the  man  who  sacrificed  one  true-hearted  wife  for  a 
royal  alliance,  that  in  his  last  years,  when  lonely  and 
captive,  he  should  be  robbed  of  both  wife  and  child, 
and  now  that  a foreign  land  should  keep  their  dust? 

The  present  Imperial  Family  is  popular,  at  least  here 
in  the  capital ; and,  if  one  can  trust  the  common  reports 
of  their  private  life,  deservedly  so.  I had  heard  Kossuth 

10 


* 

218  SUMMER  PICTURES. 

speak  of  Francis  Joseph  as  a “young  Nero,”  and,  of 
course,  had  formed  but  a low  opinion  of  one  who  had  so 
early  stained  his  hands  with  the  blood  of  Italian  and 
Hungarian  patriots.  Nor  do  I refer  now  to  his  political 
course.  No  doubt  he  preserves  all  the  traditions  of  his 
race,  the  proud  house  of  Hapsburg,  and  clings  to  power, 
and  would  combat  revolution  as  fiercely  as  any  despot. 
But  personally,  so  far  as  I can  learn,  though  of  a temper 
somewhat  quick  and  violent,  his  character  is  worthy  of 
respect.  He  is  married  to  a princess  of  Bavaria,  and  in 
his  devotion  to  his  wife  is  a pattern  to  his  people.  It  was 
not  a cold-blooded  state  alliance,  bub  a pure  love  match ; 
and  the  royal  couple  seem  to  be  as  fond  of  each  other  as 
any  less  exalted  lovers.  They  are  both  domestic  in  their 
tastes,  and  prefer  each  other’s  society  to  all  the  gaieties 
of  the  court.  Though  compelled  to  assume  some  degree 
of  state,  yet,  for  royal  personages,  nothing  could  be  more 
unostentatious  than  their  style  of  life.  In  visiting  the 
palace,  we  wTere  surprised  at  the  simplicity  of  the  Im- 
perial apartments,  in  such  marked  contrast  to  the  mag- 
nificence of  V ersailles,  or  even  to  the  show  which  sur- 
rounds the  parvenu  monarchy  of  Prussia.  The  court  is 
now  spending  the  summer  at  Laxeuburg,  a few  miles 
from  Vienna.  It  is  a pretty  country  place,  with  pleasant 
walks,  and  trees,  and  fountains,  but  not  to  be  compared 
to  the  princely  seats  of  many  English  noblemen.  So,  in 
their  way  of  living  they  are  very  simple.  Though  com- 
pelled by  their  position  to  take  the  lead  of  the  court,  to 


THE  PRESENT  IMPERIAL  FAMILY. 


219 


receive  the  foreign  ambassadors  and  ministers  of  the 
government,  and  distinguished  foreigners,  yet,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  the  Emperor  and  Empress  are  not  fond 
of  society,  but  prefer  a quiet,  domestic  life.  No  one  can 
hear  the  stories  which  are  told  of  their  family  circle,  with- 
out feeling  a deep  interest  in  this  young  couple,  so  ex- 
alted in  their  station,  yet  so  simple  in  their  tastes  and  so 
happy  in  their  love. 

The  first  fruit  of  this  marriage  died.  When  visiting 
the  burial-place  of  the  Emperors,  under  the  Church  of 
the  Capuchins,  we  observed  among  the  stately  tombs  a 
little  coffin,  wreathed  with  flowers,  which  incloses  the  last 
scion  of  the  House  of  Austria,  and  the  monk  told  us  that 
the  Empress  comes  often  to  look  upon  the  resting-place 
of  her  first-born  child.  When  we  were  at  Laxenburg,  the 
court  were  in  hourly  expectation  of  the  birth  of  another 
royal  child,  and  preparations  were  made  for  an  illumina- 
tion ; and  though  nothing  could  well  be  more  indifferent 
to  us,  yet  after  hearing  so  much  of  this  youthful  queen, 
we  could  not  but  feel  a wish  that  the  yearnings  of  her 
mother’s  heart  might  be  gratified,  and  while  we  cared 
nothing  for  its  political  consequences,  it  was  with  a degree 
of  pleasure  that,  a week  later,  we  heard  the  cannon  at 
Venice  announce  the  birth  of  a little  prince  and  heir  to 
the  Imperial  throne. 

This  simplicity  of  manners  is  a feature  of  the  Austrian 
court,  and  does  much  to  soften  the  rigor  of  the  Imperial 
rule.  Though  the  government  is  an  absolute  monarchy, 


220 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  distance  between  the  sovereign  and  the  subject  is  not 
so  great  as  in  England.  The  Kaiser  mingles  more  freely 
and  familiarly  with  his  people.  The  old  Archduke  John, 
the  uncle  of  the  Emperor,  walks  about  the  Prater,  talk- 
ing to  the  people,  and  patting  children  on  their  heads. 
This  familiarity  does  not  diminish  respect,  but  awakens 
attachment.  All  love  the  simple,  good  old  man.  Royal 
condescension  gives  to  the  sovereign  of  the  country 
something  of  a paternal  character  in  the  eyes  of  his  peo- 
ple, and  leads  them  to  look  up  to  him  with  an  awe 
mingled  with  affection. 

But  you  will  probably  be  less  curious  about  these  do- 
mestic details  than  about  the  general  political  state  of  the 
counjfcry.  Are  there  any  signs  of  progress  in  the  proud 
Austrian  empire  ? I think  there  has  been  some  advance 
toward  better  institutions,  yet  progress  in  that  direction 
is  slow,  and  far  behind  what  was  anticipated  in  the  jubilee 
of  1848.  As  I go  from  one  European  capital  to  another, 
everywhere  I am  met  with  the  same  evidence  of  the 
total  failure  of  that  year  of  revolutions,  and  I am  forced 
to  ascribe  it,  not  alone  to  the  perfidy  of  courts,  but  chiefly 
to  the  utter  incapacity  of  those  who  were  suddenly  in- 
trusted with  power.  Ten  years  ago,  the  Revolution  was 
absolute  master  of  Vienna.  The  government  was  pros- 
trate ; the  Emperor  had  fled.  In  that  hour  of  triumph, 
had  the  people  been  wise  and  moderate  in  their  demands, 
they  might  have  gained  everything.  But  they  were 
intoxicated  with  sudden  power.  The  students  of  the 


FAILURE  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 


221 


University  and  the  workmen  of  the  capital  assumed  the 
mastery  of  affairs,  not  only  without  being  called  to  that 
high  post  by  the  voice  of  the  nation,  but  to  the  offence 
of  the  provinces,  and  the  disgust  of  the  better  class  of 
citizens  of  the  capital.  Hurried  from  one  rash  act  to 
another,  they  murdered  the  Minister  of  War,  and  in- 
augurated a reign  of  terror  in  the  streets ; and  finally 
brought  around  the  walls  of  Vienna  an  army  of  a hun- 
dred thousand  men,  and  subjected  their  capital  to  the 
horrors  of  a siege  and  bombardment.  So  fell  the  hope 
of  a constitutional  monarchy  in  Austria — not  mourned 
and  lamented,  but  loathed  and  execrated,  by  those  who 
had  come  to  regard  liberty  as  synonymous  with  anarchy, 
and  who  welcomed  anything  which  could  restore  order. 
To  this  day,  the  burghers  of  Vienna  recall  with  fear 
those  scenes  of  blood,  and  shudder  at  the  very  thought 
of  revolution.  So  fell  the  hopes  of  a nation — by  popular 
ignorance,  and  violence,  and  incapacity.  God  grant  that 
this  bitter  lesson  may  not  be  forgotten  when  next  the 
people  have  to  combat  for  liberty  ! 

The  revolution  in  Hungary  I regard  with  a different 
feeling,  for  that  fell  not  by  internal  weakness,  but  by 
foreign  arms.  That  heroic  struggle  will  always  command 
the  respect  of  the  world,  for  the  splendid  manifestations 
which  it  gave  of  the  valor  of  the  people,  and  of  the  great 
civil  and  military  talents  of  their  leaders.  Yet  even  here, 
I have  a half  conviction  that  the  chief  ends  sought  by 
war  might  have  been  obtained,  if  the  Hungarians  had 


222 


SUMMER  riCTURES. 


trusted  more  to  wisdom  in  council  than  to  valor  in  the 
field.  I question  much  whether  they  would  not  have 
done  better  to  content  themselves  with  such  reforms  as 
they  might  have  wrung  from  the  terror-stricken  court  of 
Vienna,  than  to  declare  at  once  for  independence,  and 
thus  plunge  the  empire  into  a bloody  civil  war.  Kossuth 
says  there  was  a time  when  “ he  held  the  fate  of  the 
house  of  Ilapsburg  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand and  his 
language  is  hardly  too  strong.  At  that  moment  he 
might  have  obtained  for  his  country — a separate  ad- 
ministration, separate  ministers,  a legislature  of  their 
own  elected  by  the  people,  and  even  a separate  army 
— in  a word,  everything  except  total  independence. 
Only  a single  tie  would  have  remained  between  the  two 
kingdoms,  in  the  union  of  the  two  crowns.  The  Emperor 
of  Austria  would  still  be  the  King  of  Hungary.  But  his 
relation  could  not  be  much  different  from  that  of  the  old 
German  Emperors  to  the  separate  kingdoms  united  in 
one  great  confederation.  Hungary  would  have  been  as 
much  a power  as  Saxony  or  Bavaria.  All  this  was  thrown 
away  to  pursue  the  phantom  of  independence.  Probably 
Kossuth  would  say  that  he  could  put  no  faith  in  the 
promises  of  the  treacherous  House  of  Ilapsburg.  Per- 
hajis  the  Hungarians  might  have  found  themselves  be- 
trayed. Though  if  once  they  could  have  organized  a 
separate  government  peacefully,  and  consolidated  their 
m ional  institutions,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that  they 
c lid  have  been  reconquered. 


SIGNS  OF  mOGHESS. 


223 


But  vain  now  are  these  speculations  and  regrets.  Use- 
less is  the  wisdom  that  comes  after  the  event.  God  alone 
sees  the  end  from  the  beginning.  The  patriots  of  Hun- 
gary, doubtless,  acted  as  they  thought  for  the  good  of 
their  country,  and  now  wre  can  but  look  back  with  ad- 
miration at  their  heroic  struggle,  and  with  pity  for  its 
end. 

Incidentally,  the  revolutions  of  1848  have  been  a bene- 
fit to  the  empire.  They  have  broken  the  sleep  of  ages, 
and  forced  upon  this  most  conservative  of  governments 
the  necessity  of  some  reform.  There  is  now  a relaxation 
of  the  old#rigor  of  despotism ; some  changes  have  been 
introduced  for  the  better,  and  more  will  follow.  So  far 
as  we  can  judge  from  the  external  look  of  things,  we 
have  been  pleasantly  disappointed.  Austria  we  expected 
to  find  the  worst-governed  state  on  the  continent.  We 
had  been  warned  that  we  should  be  annoyed  by  the 
regulations  of  the  police,  and  by  a perpetual  espionage 
kept  on  the  movements  of  travellers.  But  we  have  seen 
nothing  of  the  kind.  The  custom-house  officers  have 
proved  much  more  civil  than  their  fellows  in  most  coun- 
tries. Our  passport  has  not  been  called  for  since  we 
entered  the  Austrian  dominions,  except  at  the  frontier, 
and  we  are  told  that  it  will  not  need  another  visa  till  we 
are  prepared  to  leave  Milan  to  enter  Sardinia.  A gen- 
tleman with  whom  we  have  become  very  well  acquainted 
here,  and  who  has  lived  in  Vienna  for  eight  years,  laughs 
at  our  apprehensions  that  every  public  place  is  infested 


224 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


with  spies.  lie  tells  us  also  that  Austria  is  the  only 
government  in  Europe  wThere  the  people  themselves  can 
travel  without  any  passports  at  all ! 

All  this  is  very  well.  And  I can  readily  believe,  what 
he  assures  us  is  the  case,  that  the  government  is  making 
honest  and  earnest  efforts  to  better  the  condition  of  the 
people.  In  this  respect  he  admits  that  the  revolutions 
of  1848  have  been  of  great  service ; that  they  have  given 
the  old  Austrian  conservatism  a terrible  shaking,  and 
forced  the  government,  in  spite  of  itself,  to  enter  upon 
the  road  of  progress.  Every  effort  is  now  made  to  con- 
ciliate its  diverse  populations.  But  I fear  the  evil  is 
beyond  all  cure.  There  is  an  inherent  weakness  in  the 
Austrian  empire.  It  is  composed  of  different  races  that 
cannot  coalesce  into  one  nation.  At  Prague  we  were 
told  that  great  jealousy  existed  between  the  Germans 
and  the  Bohemians.  The  government  tries  to  maintain 
itself  by  playing  off  the  jealousies  of  one  people  against 
another.  Thus  we  found  in  the  streets  of  Prague  a regi- 
ment  of  Hungarians,  while  the  cities  of  Hungary  are 
occupied  by  Croats  or  Tyrolese. 

We  are  glad  to  hear  all  that  is  good,  and  to  believe  as 
much  as  is  possible  of  the  improved  state  of  things  in 
Austria.  Yet  we  cannot  shut  our  eyes  to  certain  obvi- 
ous facts.  An  immense  standing  army  holds  the  sword 
over  the  country.  In  every  city  we  find  palaces  and 
barracks  guarded  by  troops,  with  cannon  pointed  at  the 
open  squares,  as  if  to  sweep  down  any  advance  of  the 


HOPE  OF  THE  FUTURE. 


225 


people.  This  looks  like  a military  occupation  of  the 
country.  It  is  a standing  menace  to  liberty. 

Nor  can  we  forget  other  parts  of  the  empire,  which 
may  suffer  more  and  enjoy  less  from  Imperial  rule  than 
the  favored  capital.  Vienna  is,  next  to  Paris,  the  gayest 
city  on  the  Continent.  But  while  the  people  around  us 
laugh  and  dance,  we  cannot  but  think  of  Hungary  and 
of  Italy,  and  of  the  martyrs  of  liberty  whom  this  paternal 
government  has  sent  to  prison  or  the  scaffold.  As  we 
came  from  Prague,  we  passed  by  Brunn,  and  saw  on 
a hill  at  our  right  the  Castle  of  Spielberg,  where  Silvio 
Pellico  was  confined.  Soon  after,  we  caught  a view  of 
the  Carpathians.  We  had  just  passed  within  a few  miles 
of  the  field  of  Austerlitz,  and  were  approaching  the  field 
of  Wagram,  wThen,  as  if  nature  were  in  unison  with  the 
scene,  a thunder-storm  passed  over  the  heavens.  It  swept 
by,  and  the  setting  sun  broke  out  from  the  clouds  and 
lighted  up  the  mountains  of  Hungary.  We  hailed  it  as 
an  omen  of  a bright  future  for  that  unhappy  country. 
May  it  prove  indeed  an  emblem  of  its  coming  freedom 
and  glory ! 


10* 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


From  the  Baltic  to  the  Adriatic — The  Semmering  Pass  over  the 
Julian  Alps — The  Grotto  op  Adelsberg — Venice — Approach 
from  TnE  Sea — Canals  and  Gondolas — The  Square  of  St.  Mark 
— Palace  of  the  Doges,  and  the  Bridge  of  SiGns — Visit  to  the 
Islands  in  the  Harbor — Moonlight  and  Music. 

Venice,  August  23,  1858. 

The  whole  mode  of  travelling  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe  has  "been  changed  within  the  last  few  years,  by 
the  introduction  of  railroads,  so  that  distances  which 
once  seemed  almost  immeasurable,  are  now  accomplished 
with  the  greatest  rapidity  and  ease.  It  is  hardly  three 
weeks  since  I wrote  you  from  Copenhagen,  and  now  I 
am  writing  from  V enice.  W e were  then  listening  to  a 
wild  storm  which  was  raging  on  the  Baltic,  and  shudder- 
ing at  the  thought  of  crossing  it  the  next  day  ; the  wind 
shook  our  windows,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents  in  the 
streets.  We  are  now  melting  under  an  Italian  sun  ; our 
windows  look  down  upon  the  Grand  Canal,  and  the 
bridge  of  the  Rialto  ; and  the  gondolier  glides  along  the 
watery  streets.  In  that  time  we  have  passed  over  a 
continent ; we  have  traversed  three  kingdoms,  Prussia, 
Saxony,  and  Austria;  and  have  crossed  two  seas,  the 


THE  SEMMERING  PASS  OYER  THE  ALPS. 


227 


Baltic  and  the  Adriatic.  And  yet  we  have  not  rushed 
ahead  in  the  American  style,  seeing  nothing,  but  eager 
only  to  reach  the  journey’s  end.  Had  it  been  our  object 
to  accomplish  the  distance  in  the  least  possible  time,  we 
might  have  made  it,  not  in  three  weeks,  but  in  three 
days — thus,  one  day  from  Copenhagen  to  Berlin,  another 
to  Vienna,  and  a third  to  Venice.  But  we  have  saun- 
tered along  in  the  most  leisurely  way — spending  four 
days  in  Berlin,  one  in  Leipsic,  three  in  Dresden,  one  in 
Prague,  five  in  Vienna,  one  in  Gratz,  and  one  in  Trieste. 

In  coming  from  Vienna  to  the  Adriatic,  we  crossed 
the  range  of  the  Julian  Alps,  by  the  Semmering  Pass, 
and  this  afforded  us  the  grandest  mountain  scenery  that 
we  have  yet  gazed  upon.  Of  all  the  heights  scaled  by 
fire-drawn  cars,  this  is  the  loftiest  and  the  dizziest  which 
I have  seen,  either  in  Europe  or  America.  What  would 
Hannibal,  what  would  Napoleon  say,  to  a railroad  over 
the  Alps  ? It  was  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of 
the  Emperor  to  have  built  a macadamized  highway  over 
the  Simplon.  But  a modern  engineer  has  shown  that  the 
same  dizzy  heights  are  not  inaccessible  by  the  iron  road, 
and  the  steam  car  goes  flying  along  the  edge  of  preci- 
pices, over  yawning  abysses,  through  tunnels  bored 
under  mountains,  at  a height  of  three  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea.  This  is  the  highest  railway 
in  the  world.  The  grandeur  of  the  ride  surpasses  all 
description.  When  once  the  road  becomes  involved  in 
the  mountains,  it  turns  and  twists  in  all  directions,  as  if 


228 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


seeking  some  means  of  escape  ; now  creeping  along  tlie 
bed  of  a mountain  torrent,  now  winding  far  around  the 
sides  of  a mountain  to  seek  a higher  level,  then  leaping 
over  frightful  chasms,  and  rushing  on  to  the  summit 
where  the  clouds  sit — to  the  very  home  of  the  thunder. 
In  these  perpetual  windings,  a new  landscape  is  presented 
at  every  moment.  A thousand  scenes  pass  before  the 
eye,  at  once  impossible  to  describe  or  to  forget.  It  should 
be  added,  that  the  road  itself  is  built  in  a manner  to  last 
for  ages.  It  is  the  proudest  monument  which  a powerful 
government  could  erect.  No  doubt  it  was  built  with  a 
military  as  well  as  commercial  object.  It  not  only  con- 
nects Vienna  with  Trieste,  the  only  port  in  the  empire, 
but  is  a grand  highway  by  which  the  Austrian  troops  can 
be  poured  into  Italy.  Yet  so  was  the  Simplon  con- 
structed by  Napoleon  for  a military  purpose.  Yet  that 
does  not  prevent  posterity  from  admiring  the  work  or 
receiving  the  benefit. 

The  distance  from  Vienna  to  Trieste  is  three  hundred 
and  fifty  miles.  The  journey  may  be  made  in  seventeen 
hours — leaving  Vienna  at  six  in  the  morning,  and  arriving 
at  Trieste  at  eleven  at  night ; and  by  taking  the  steamer 
which  leaves  at  midnight,  one  is  in  Venice  the  next 
morning.  But  this  makes  the  journey  a very  fatiguing 
business.  We  chose  a slower,  but  more  pleasant  mode 
of  travel.  We  left  Vienna  on  Saturday,  and  came  that 
afternoon  as  far  as  Gratz,  the  capital  of  Styria,  where  we 
passed  the  Sabbath,  a quiet  day  of  rest,  ever  welcome  to 


THE  GROTTO  OF  ADELSBERG. 


229 


the  weary  and  jaded  traveller.  On  Monday  we  came  on 
to  Trieste. 

By  thus  travelling  slowly,  we  found  time  to  explore 
another  wonder  of  this  Alpine  region,  which  travellers 
rarely  stop  to  see,  but  which,  as  a natural  curiosity,  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  remarkable  which  Europe  con- 
tains. This  is  the  Grotto  of  Adelsberg,  fifty  miles  from 
Trieste.  It  is,  beyond  comparison,  the  grandest  cavern 
in  Europe.  I have  not  yet  seen  the  Mammoth  Cave  of 
Kentucky,  and  cannot  compare  the  two.  Perhaps  the 
New  World  exceeds  the  Old  in  subterranean  wonders  as 
much  as  in  its  rivers,  lakes,  and  cataracts.  But  hitherto 
my  eyes  have  beheld  no  such  scene.  It  is  a temple,  not 
made  with  hands,  but  formed  by  the  Creator  himself  in 
the  eternal  rock,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  mountain. 
Three  guides  accompanied  us ; and  by  the  aid  of  many 
hundreds  of  lighted  candles,  displayed  the  arches  and 
spires  and  domes  of  this  wondrous  temple  of  nature. 
Millions  of  stalactites  hung  from  the  vaulted  roof.  We 
penetrated  for  about  two  miles,  but  the  guides  had  been 
as  far  again,  and  beyond  where  mortal  foot  has  trod,  the 
cavern  may  stretch  unknown  leagues  into  the  heart  of 
the  earth.  In  all  this  region  of  darkness  and  silence  was 
no  sight  or  sound  of  living  thing.  Often  we  stopped  to 
listen — but  naught,  save  the  dropping  of  water,  Jbroko 
the  awful  stillness  of  the  place.  The  impression  of  such 
deep  silence,  of  a solitude  so  profound,  was  almost  pain- 
ful, and  it  was  with  a feeling  of  relief  that  we  at  last 


230 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


emerged  from  these  subterranean  regions  to  the  light  of 
day. 

We  had  planned  our  summer’s  tour  so  as  to  end  with 
a fortnight  in  the  north  of  Italy.  Other  parts  of  Italy 
we  had  seen  before.  Rome,  Florence,  and  Naples  were 
familiar  ground.  But  one  city,  full  of  historical  and 
poetical  associations,  w^as  yet  to  be  seen.  Ten  years  ago, 
when  I passed  through  Bologna  and  Milan,  war  was 
raging  in  Lombardy  between  Charles  Albert  and  the 
Austrians,  and  Venice  was  difficult  of  approach.  It  had, 
therefore,  remained  unvisited.  This  had  been  a lasting 
regret.  So  we  resolved  to  see  it  this  time,  though  we 
should  have  to  travel  hundreds  of  miles  to  reach  it,  and 
we  reserved  it  to  the  last,  as  the  culminating  point  of  our 
journey. 

We  thought  it  an  advantage  to  enter  it  from  the  sea. 
Travellers  who  come  from  the  west  commonly  take  the 
railway  from  Milan,  and  cross  the  Lagune  on  a long 
bridge  of  arches.  But  it  seems  very  prosaic  to  enter 
Venice  by  a railroad  ! Our  approach  was  more  befitting 
the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic,  as  it  was  across  the  waters  of 
the  Adriatic  itself.  The  hour  also  added  to  the  effect 
upon  the  imagination.  It  was  midnight  when  we  em- 
barked on  board  the  steamer  at  Trieste.  The  city  lay 
sleeping  in  the  shadow  of  the  mountains  wdiich  surround 
it.  The  clock  struck  twelve,  as  we  glided  out  of  the 
port,  past  the  guns  of  the  Austrian  frigate  which  keeps 
watch  and  ward  over  the  city.  The  sea  was  calm  as  an 


APPROACH  TO  VENICE. 


231 


inland  lake  ; the  sky  was  brilliant  with  stars.  As  the  boat 
was  crowded,  we  "were  glad  to  escape  the  confined  air  of 
the  cabin,  and  to  seek  the  purer  atmosphere  above.  It 
had  been  a fiery  summer’s  day,  and  w^e  felt  refreshed  by 
drinking  from  “ the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air.” 
So  heavenly  was  the  scene  in  the  sky  and  the  waters, 
that  we  actually  remained  on  deck  all  night  long.  We 
watched  the  constellations  come  and  go.'  At  length  we 
saw  the  sun  rise  out  of  the  waves,  and  there  before  us 
was  a city  in  the  sea — there  were  the  towers,  and  domes, 
and  minarets  of  Y enice. 

W e entered  the  Lagune  and  sailed  up  the  Grand  Canal, 
and  anchored  off  the  Square  of  St.  Mark.  We  needed  no 
guide  to  tell  us  the  spot.  There  wras  the  lion  of  St.  Mark 
— there  was  the  Palace  of  the  Doges,  and  the  Bridge  of 
Sighs,  leading  into  the  frowming  prison  behind.  The 
lines  of  Byron  at  once  came  into  mind  : 

“I  stood  in  Venice  on  the  Bridge  of  Sighs, 

A palace  and  a prison  on  each  hand.” 

The  steamer  was  soon  surrounded  by  a fleet  of  gon- 
dolas. These  famous  boats  are  not  very  inviting  in  their 
appearance.  They  are  long  and  slender,  and  are  always 
painted  black,  and  covered  with  a kind  of  funeral  pall,  so 
that  they  look  like  floating  hearses,  bearing  all  the  beauty 
and  glory  of  Y enice  to  the  grave.  Into  one  of  these  novel 
boats  we  were  dropped  with  our  baggage,  and  floated 
away  to  another  quarter  of  the  city,  near  the  bridge  of 


232 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  Rialto.  Our  hotel  was  an  old  palace,  whose  halls 
still  retained  traces  of  princely  splendor.  We  asked  for 
a room  overlooking  the  Grand  Canal,  and  thus  we  are 
able  from  our  windows  to  watch  the  light  barks  which 
are  always  gliding  to  and  fro,  softly  as  the  shadows  of 
clouds  flitting  over  a motionless  and  moonlit  sea. 

We  have  now  been  here  nearly  a week,  and  all  this 
time  we  have  b^en  walking  in  a dream,  or  rather  floating 
in  one,  for  no  man  in  Venice  puts  his  feet  to  the  ground. 
We  live  and  move  upon  the  water.  Every  morning,  as 
we  come  down  to  the  steps  of  our  hotel,  we  find  a dozen 
gondolas  waiting.  We  step  lightly  into  one  and  glide 
away.  These  boats,  which  look  so  dark  and  solemn,  yet 
for  a pleasant  sail  are  the  most  delightful  in  the  world. 
W e recline  upon  a cushioned  seat,  with  a canopy  over  us 
if  the  day  be  warm,  or  removed  if  it  be  shaded  and  cool. 
The  gondolier  stands  behind  us,  and  guides  his  bark  with 
a single  oar,  and  yet  with  marvellous  swiftness  and  skill. 
We  commonly  take  a gondola  for  the  day,  making  all 
our  excursions  in  it,  to  see  galleries,  and  palaces,  and 
churches,  and  even  to  the  islands  in  the  harbor.  When 
tired  of  seeing  sights,  we  let  the  gondolier  guide  us  as  he 
may.  We  tell  him  only  to  keep  the  boat  in  motion,  and 
let  it  float  at  its  own  sweet  will.  So  he  takes  us  round 
and  round  the  watery  streets,  under  the  arches  of  a hun- 
dred bridges,  and  by  the  steps  of  old  palaces. 

To  see  in  order  the  monuments  of  this  city,  one  must 
begin,  of  course,  with  the  Square  of  St.  Mark,  the  centre 


PALACE  OF  THE  DOGES. 


233 


and  heart  of  Y enice.  Here  in  one  group  are  the  princi- 
pal objects  of  interest.  Let  us  first  ascend  the  Campanile, 
to  a height  of  three  hundred  feet,  from  which  we  can  take 
a survey  of  the  whole  of  Yenice,  including  the  windings 
of  the  Grand  Canal,  the  broader  Lagune,  and  the  islands 
in  the  harbor.  But  a few  steps  from  the  Campanile  is 
the  Duomo,  or  Church  of  St.  Mark — a structure  of  very 
ancient  date,  and  of  most  curious  architecture.  Its  domes 
and  pointed  spires  mark  a style  brought  from  the  gorge- 
ous East.  It  looks  more^  like  a Mohammedan  mosque 
than  a Christian  place  of  worship.  It  is  not  grand  and 
imposing,  like  the  Cathedral  of  Milan.  Yet  it  is  rich  in 
its  marbles  and  mosaics,  and  derives  a singular  interest 
from  the  many  centuries  which  it  has  stood,  and  the 
strange  vicissitudes  which  it  has  witnessed.  Here  came 
the  Yenetian  conquerors,  bearing  the  banners  of  many  a 
nation,  and  chanted  Te  Deums  in  honor  of  their  victories 
by  land  and  sea.  Here  in  this  vestibule  a fugitive  Pope, 
driven  from  Rome,  at  last  put  his  foot  upon  the  neck  of 
his  enemy  and  persecutor,  Frederick  Barbarossa,  saying 
in  bitter  and  scornful  triumph,  “ Thou  shalt  tread  upon 
the  lion  and  adder.”  The  very  pavement  over  which  we 
walk  bears  marks  of  time.  It  is  sunken  and  uneven,  like 
the  pavement  of  a street,  having  been  worn  away  by  the 
footsteps  of  many  generations. 

From  the  Cathedral  a side-door  opens  into  the  court 
of  the  Palace  of  the  Doges.  For  its  historical  associa- 
tions, there  is  scarcely  a more  marked  or  memorable  spot 


234 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


in  Europe.  This  was  the  centre  of  Venetian  power  in 
those  glorious  days, 

“When  many  a subject  land 
Looked  to  the  winged  lion’s  marble  piles, 

Where  Venice  sat  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles.” 

We  ascend  the  Staircase  of  the  Giants,  and  enter  the 
majestic  halls.  This  lofty  apartment  was  the  place  of 
meeting  of  the  Senate ; and  near  by,  in  a chamber,  smaller 
and  darker,  as  became  the  mysterious  tribunal,  sat  the 
terrible  Council  of  Ten.  A fissure  in  the  wall  is  still 
shown,  as  the  famous  Lion’s  Mouth,  which  opened  to 
receive  many  a secret  accusation,  and  here,  with  closed 
doors  and  veiled  faces,  the  dread  conclave  sat  to  judge 
and  to  condemn.  From  their  sentence  there  was  no 
appeal,  and  instant  execution  awaited  the  doomed  victim 
in  the  dungeons  below. 

In  the  same  building  is  the  Grand  Hall,  where  all  the 
nobles  of  Venice  met  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  Repub- 
lic. The  walls  are  richly  covered  with  paintings  of  the 
old  Venetian  masters.  Around  the  ceiling  are  portraits 
of  all  the  Doges.  One  panel  alone  is  vacant,  the  face 
being  covered  with  black,  to  mark  the  terrible  fate  of  its 
possessor,  Marino  Faliero.  We  were  next  shown  the 
private  apartments  of  the  Doge — which,  like  the  great 
halls  of  the  palace,  are  in  a style  of  imperial  magnificence. 

From  these  memories  of  glory  and  splendor  we  turned 
to  another  side  of  the  picture — to  the  Bridge  of  Sighs  and 


THE  BRIDGE  OF  SIGHS — CHURCHES. 


235 


the  prison  beneath.  The  old  cicerone  who  led  us  down 
the  steps  into  the  dungeons,  lamp  in  hand,  seemed  to  take 
it  to  heart  that  strangers  thought  it  such  a dreadful  place. 
He  showed  us  that  the  cells  were  not  below  the  level  of 
the  water,  and  that  a feeble  ray  of  light  might  glimmer 
in  these  dark  abodes.  He  assured  us  the  horrors  had 
been  exaggerated,  and  seemed  to  think  that  one  might 
find  these  quarters  quite  comfortable  ! 

Next  in  interest  to  these  historical  places  are  the  pri- 
vate palaces,  which  rise  by  hundreds  along  the  Grand 
Canal,  presenting  the  most  imposing  evidence  of  the 
wealth  of  Venice  in  the  days  of  her  commercial  great- 
ness ; and  the  churches,  rich  in  marble  and  gold,  with 
many  costly  shrines,  and  more  precious  wTorks  of  art ; 
with  monuments  of  her  Doges,  and  of  all  her  great 
painters  and  sculptors,  from  Titian  to  Canova.  I cannot 
pretend  to  tell  how  many  of  these  we  have  visited,  or  to 
describe  the  dazzling  pictures  which  they  presented. 

Thus  we  spend  our  days,  wandering  from  one  object  of 
interest  to  another.  But  when  the  evening  draws  on,  we 
find  nothing  so  beautiful  as  the  waters  which  flow  be- 
tween these  palaces.  We  have  chanced  to  be  in  Venice 
at  the  time  of  the  full  moon,  and  the  beauty  of  the  days 
has  been  exceeded  by  the  splendor  of  the  nights.  Then 
we  take  to  our  gondola,  and  push  off  from  the  shore,  that 
we  may  drink  in  the  full  glory  of  the  scene — the  pale 
moonlight  streaming  on  tower,  and  dome,  and  palace, 
and  covering  with  silver  the  silent  sea. 


236 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


One  afternoon,  we  made  an  excursion  to  the  island  of 
San  Lazzaro,  on  which  is  an  Armenian  convent.  A priest 
received  us  at  the  gate,  and  conducted  us  over  the  build- 
ing, and  explained  the  design  of  the  Seminary,  which  is 
to  educate  Armenian  youth.  It  has  now  about  fifty 
students,  chiefly  from  Constantinople.  Here  Lord  Byron 
came,  when  he  lived  in  V enice,  to  study  Armenian  with 
the  monks.  The  good  fathers  seem  very  proud  of  their 
illustrious  pupil,  and  they  show  his  table,  and  many 
souvenirs  of  his  residence  with  them.  This  visit  was  one 
of  much  interest  to  us  ; and  long  after  we  had  left  the 
island,  we  sat  in  our  gondola,  listening  to  the  sound  of 
their  convent  bells. 

From  San  Lazzaro  we  were  rowed  to  the  Lido, 
another  island,  which  is  a favorite  resort  of  the  Vene- 
tians. Here  Lord  Byron  was  accustomed  to  take  his 
rides  along  the  shore.  We  went  down  to  the  beach,  and 
strayed  about  a long  time,  gathering  shells,  and  gazing 
off  upon  the  Adriatic,  until  the  approach  of  evening 
warned  us  to  return  to  the  city. 

“ N ow,  gondolier,  for  V enice  ! But  not  there,”  I said, 
pointing  to  the  Square  of  St.  Mark,  “ but  away  round, 
round  by  the  Lagune,  that  we  may  encompass  the  whole 
of  the  city.”  True  to  the  word,  our  boatman  took  his 
oar  and  steered  away,  though  by  the  watch  it  kept  him 
rowing  two  hours.  But  the  beauty  of  that  evening  sail 
defies  all  description.  A sea  of  glass,  a heaven  of  blue, 
the  setting  sun,  and  the  rising  moon,  furnished  the  lights 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MUSIC. 


237 


and  shadows  of  the  scene,  and  there,  suspended  between 
the  firmament  above  and  that  below,  sat  two  voyagers 
from  the  W est,  silent  and  thoughtful,  floating  on  and  on 
into  the  distance. 

At  last  we  entered  the  Grand  Canal,  and  in  due  time 
were  gliding  under  the  arches  of  the  Rialto,  and  to  the 
steps  of  our  hotel. 

“ Are  you  not  exhausted  with  fatigue  ?”  we  asked  our 
brave  gondolier. 

“Ron,  non,  Signore !” 

“ Then  we  will  rest  a few  minutes,  and  after  that  go  on 
to  the  Square  of  St.  Mark.”  We  stopped  to  give  him 
breath,  and  to  get  our  cloaks,  and  then  he  took  his  oar 
again,  and  soon  swept  us  through  the  smaller  canals,  to 
the  steps  of  the  garden  of  the  Imperial  Palace.  We  came 
just  in  time.  The  whole  square  was  in  a blaze  of  light, 
the  Austrian  bands  were  playing,  and  crowds  of  people 
were  sitting  under  the  arcades,  or  walking  up  and  down 
the  paved  court.  True,  some  sad  thoughts  were  stirred 
within  me  by  the  presence  of  these  foreign  troops.  But 
I will  not  speak  of  that  now.  I am  giving  you  the  poetry 
of  Venice.  Hereafter  I may  speak  of  its  rugged  and 
bitter  prose.  But  at  present  I will  not  mar  with  painful 
reflections  the  transcendent  loveliness  of  this  scene. 

It  was  late  before  we  could  tear  ourselves  away. 
When  we  entered  our  boat  the  bands  had  ceased.  But 
hark  ! what  sound  now  comes  over  the  water  ? A party 
of  Italians  are  singing  under  the  windows  of  yonder 


238 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


palace.  W e bid  the  gondolier  rest  his  oar,  and  he  stands 
still,  like  a statue  in  the  moonlight,  fixed  and  listening. 
Who  could  resist  the  spell  of  such  an  hour,  when  the 
earth  seemed  overflowed  with  moonlight  and  music. 

“My  soul  was  an  enchanted  boat, 

Which  like  a sleeping  s.wan  did  float 
Upon  the  waves  of  that  sweet  singing.” 

In  such  “ a deep  dream  of  peace  ” we  closed  the  day. 

But  the  purest  pleasures  must  come  to  an  end.  The 
day  of  our  departure  has  arrived.  I hear  the  landlord 
calling : “ Signore ! the  trunks  are  descended,  and  the  gon- 
dola is  waiting  at  the  door.”  We  step  on  board,  and  as 
we  glide  along  the  Grand  Canal  to  the  railway  station, 
we  breathe  a silent,  sad  farewell  to  the  City  in  the  Sea. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Another  View  of  Venice — The  Austrian  Rule — Celebration  of 
the  Emperor’s  Birthday — Illumination  for  the  Young  Prince 
— Hatred  of  the  People  to  the  Officers — The  Bombardment 
and  Political  Executions. 

Venice,  August  23,  1858. 

A pleasant  dream  has  often  a sad  awaking.  The  eye 
opens  from  visions  of  beauty  and  happiness  to  stern  and 
harsh  realities.  The  last  week,  we  have  been  enjoying 
Venice  as  seen  by  the  light  of  poetry  and  history.  We 
have  felt  a mournful  admiration  for  a city  once  so  power- 
ful, and  still  beautiful  in  its  decay.  We  have  admired  its 
architecture  and  its  paintings,  and  looked  back  with  awe 
to  its  mighty  dead,  as  we  lingered  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Doges,  and  beneath  the  winged  lion  of  St.  Mark.  But 
even  amid  these  reveries  a harsh  discord  has  occasionally 
jarred  upon  the  ear,  and  startled  us  from  our  dream. 
Amid  all  the  recollections  of  former  glory,  we  have  been 
forced  to  look  upon  some  painful  sights,  which  we  could 
not  regard  without  deep  emotion.  I refer,  of  course,  to 
the  political  subjection  of  Venice,  marked  by  so  many 
signs  of  humiliation  and  slavery.  Venice  is  in  the  dust, 
and  the  foot  of  the  tyrant  is  on  her  neck. 

We  have  chanced  to  be  here  on  the  occasion  of  two 

289 


240 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


political  fetes,  which  brought  out  in  strong  contrast  the 
feeling  of  the  Venetians  and  of  their  foreign  masters — 
the  conscious  power  and  triumph  of  the  one,  the  sullen 
silence  and  deep  bitterness  and  hatred  of  the  other.  The 
very  day  that  we  arrived,  we  perceived  the  signs  of  an  un- 
usual stir.  The  troops  were  under  arms,  and  were  march- 
ing over  the  bridges  and  out  of  the  city.  Soon  after,  we 
heard  the  firing  of  cannon,  which  announced  some  un- 
usual event.  It  was  the  birthday  of  the  emperor,  and 
his  loyal  army  thus  testified  their  rejoicing.  At  noon 
we  went  to  the  cathedral,  and  found  it  crowded  with 
Austrian  officers,  listening  to  a solemn  Te  Deum,  per- 
formed in  honor  of  the  day.  The  scene  was  highly 
imposing  as  they  stood  along  the  nave,  their  ranks  glit- 
tering with  gold.  But  sad  memories  clouded  the  scene. 
W e could  not  think,  without  bitterness,  of  the  old  Church 
of  St.  Mark,  where  the  ancient  Venetians  rendered 
public  thanks  to  the  Almighty  for  their  wide  dominion, 
now  resounding  with  anthems  in  honor  of  a ruler  of 
another  race  and  language.  We  remembered  the  despair 
of  the  last  of  the  Doges  who,  when  forced  to  do  homage 
to  the  Austrian  emperor,  fell  senseless  on  the  pavement. 
And  we  thought  how  often  the  same  bitter  feeling  must 
have  wrung  the  hearts  of  the  true  and  brave.  At  this 
celebration  we  were  struck  with  the  absence  of  the  people. 
The  Italians  are  fond  of  public  fetes,  and  throng  eagerly 
to  such  displays.  Yet,  except  a few  curious  idlers,  the 
church  was  filled  only  with  foreigners. 


MILITARY  FETES. 


241 


We  waited  till  the  close  of  the  ceremony,  and  saw  the 
brilliant  cortege  issue  from  the  church,  with  Prince 
Lichtenstein  at  its  head.  The  crowd  in  the  square  of 
St.  Mark  looked  on  in  silence.  Not  a voice  was  heard 
from  the  multitude.  In  vain  the  drums  beat,  and  the 
banners  waved.  Not  a shout,  not  a cheer  could  be  wrung 
from  the  soul  of  a crushed  and  indignant  people.  The 
conquerors  were  left  to  enjoy  their  triumph  alone. 

Yesterday,  the  city  burst  out  again  into  a new  display, 
more  brilliant  than  before.  The  emperor  had  born  to 
him  a son,  who  would  be  the  heir  to  the  throne  of 
Austria.  The  city  was  illuminated.  Thousands  of  lights 
shone  in  the  windows  of  palaces,  and  were  reflected  on 
the  waters.  Yet,  as  we  sailed  along  the  Grand  Canal, 
we  marked  long  ranges  of  palaces  where  not  a taper 
shone.  The  bands  of  all  the  regiments,  numbering 
several  hundred  performers,  were  mustered  on  the  square 
of  St.  Mark,  and  tried  to  charm  the  sad  and  silent 
Italians.  But  all  in  vain.  The  square  was  thronged. 
All  Yenice  was  there.  But  the  people  kept  walking  up 
and  down  the  pavement,  but  said  not  a word.  Not  a 
response  was  given  to  those  wild  Tyrolean  airs  which 
seemed  enough  to  send  a thrill  through  everywein. 

This  mutual  dislike  and  hatred  are  so  manifest  to  every 
observer  as  to  be  most  painful.  Of  course  it  cannot 
break  out  into  open  collision.  There  are  no  plots  nor 
insurrections.  But  the  feeling  of  the  people  shows  itself 
in  a hundred  little  ways.  If  the  Austrian  oflicers  frequent 

11 


242 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


a particular  cafe,  the  Venetians  keep  aloof.  A secret 
disdain  is  marked  in  their  silence  and  reserve,  and  in 
their  quiet,  dignified  repulse  of  all  advances.  A trifling 
incident  will  show  how  this  feeling  betrays  itself.  The 
other  evening  we  were  sitting  on  the  Piazza  of  St.  Mark, 
listening  to  the  music.  As  it  was  in  the  open  square,  the 
crowd  was  a mixed  one.  At  our  side  were  a couple 
of  officers  sipping  their  coffee.  In  moving  his  chair, 
one  of  them  overturned  the  little  stand  and  precipi- 
tated his  cup  upon  the  dress  of  a lady  who  sat  behind 
him.  Instantly  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  a humble 
apology  for  the  unfortunate  accident.  The  lady  mode 
no  reply.  She  answered  not  a word.  She  did  not  even 
deign  him  a glance  of  her  eye,  nor  bend  her  haughty 
neck.  The  officer  blushed  to  his  eyes.  He  was  embar- 
rassed and  confused.  But  what  could  he  do  ? It  was 
impossible  to  pick  a quarrel  with  a lady,  or  to  resent  her 
quiet  scorn.  There  was  nothing  for  him  but  to  bear  it 
as  he  might,  and  try  to  hide  his  mortification  and  shame. 

Some  of  my  readers  may  say,  It  was  good  enough  for 
him,  and  rejoice  to  hear  of  his  mortified  pride.  I should 
feel  so,  had  I not  seen  lately  so  much  of  the  Austrian 
officers,  and  marked  how  painful  is  their  position,  and 
how  keenly  they  feel  it.  My  observation  for  the  last 
month  has  led  me  to  form  a very  high  opinion  of  the 
personnel  of  the  Austrian  army.  Its  order  and  discipline 
are  admirable.  In  all  the  Austrian  dominions  I do  not 
remember  to  have  seen  a single  drunken  soldier,  nor  one 


BOMBARDMENT'  AND  POLITICAL  EXECUTIONS.  243 


who  was  rude  in  his  behavior.  The  officers  whom  we 
have  met  in  Prague,  Vienna,  Trieste,  and  Venice,  have 
been  without  exception  polite  and  gentlemanly.  In  Italy 
it  is  evident  that  they  feel  the  awkwardness  of  their 
position,  as  being  quartered  over  a subject  nation,  and 
they  seem  to  try  to  do  everything  to  conciliate  the  good 
will  of  the  people.  But  the  wound  cannot  be  healed  by 
mere  politeness  and  amiability.  The  trouble  lies  deeper. 
It  is  not  in  the  want  of  kind  dispositions  on  their  part, 
but  they  are  the  instruments  of  an  iron  political  system, 
which  they  can  neither  check  nor  control.  It  is  the  old 
plea  of  political  necessity,  the  love  of  power  and  domi- 
nion, which  forces  Austria  to  keep  her  gripe  upon  Italy, 
and  which  sooner  or  later  will  lead  to  a deadly  conflict. 
Painful  as  it  is  to  see  this  mutual  hatred  of  two  peoples, 
both  brave  and  worthy,  of  respect,  yet  it  cannot  be 
otherwise.  How  can  a native  of  V enice  forget  what  his 
city  has  suffered  from  Austria  ? The  conflict  is  too 
recent  to  be  forgotten.  It  is  only  nine  years  since  Venice 
was  bombarded.  Often  in  visiting  palaces  we  see  round 
places  in  the  pavement,  where  the  balls  fell  crashing 
through  the  marble  floor.  These  things  are  too  fresh 
to  be  forgotten.  This  people  cannot  blot  from  their 
memories  the  horrors  of  war,  nor  the  severities  which 
followed. 

In  visiting  the  Champ  de  Mars — an  open  square  a 
little  without  the  city — our  guide  informed  us  that  this 
was  long  a favorite  resort  of  the  Venetians,  until  after  it 


244 


SUMMER  PICTURES.^r 

was  made  the  scene  of  political  executions.  One  of  the 
last  victims  was  a lawyer  of  Venice,  who  had  been 
discovered  in  some  treasonable  correspondence  with 
Mazzini.  After  his  condemnation,  he  was,  according  to 
an  old  barbarous  rule,  exposed  for  two  days  in  a cell 
which  was  open  to  the  public,  where  the  people  could 
crowd  to  see  him,  and  stare  at  him  behind  his  grate  like 
a lion  in  a cage.  After  this  diabolical  torture,  he  was 
taken  out  and  executed  on  the  Champ  de  Mars.  Since  that 
day  the  Venetians  have  shunned  the  place  with  horror. 

The  time  must  come  when  all  this  long-smothered 
hatred  will  burst  forth.  Some  will  anticipate  such  a 
struggle,  not  only  without  regret,  but  with  eager  expecta- 
tion and  a fierce  joy.  I confess  I feel  far  otherwise.  For 
the  woes  of  war  do  not  fall  on  those  who  have  been 
guilty  of  the  great  political  crime.  These  officers  are 
not  to  blame  for  the  oppression  of  Italy.  Much  less  are 
these  poor  soldiers — brave  mountaineers  from  the  Tyrol, 
or  simple  peasants  from  Hungary  and  Bohemia.  Yet, 
in  the  event  of  another  revolution,  these  soldiers  and  the 
people  of  V enice  would  be  found  butchering  each  other. 
Such  a struggle  I cannot  contemplate  without  a shudder. 
I turn  away  my  eyes  from  it.  And  yet  looking  calmly 
at  the  present  condition  of  this  unhappy  state,  I see  not 
how  it  is  to  be  averted,  except  by  the  interposition  of 
Him  with  whom  all  things  are  possible,  and  who  may 
yet  restore  Venice  and  Italy  to  freedom  without  this 
terrible  baptism  of  blood. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Verona — Its  Amphitheatre— Congress  of  Verona — The  City 

STRONGLY  FORTIFIED— CAMPAIGN  OF  1848 — PROBABLE  TACTICS  IN 
Case  of  another  War — Milan  and  its  Cathedral. 

Lake  Como,  August  26,  1858. 

We  entered  Venice  by  water  and  left  it  by  land.  A 
long,  low  bridge  of  arches  spans  the  broad  Lagune, 
over  which  the  train  rolls  out  into  the  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy. Seated  by  the  window,  we  kept  looking  back  at 
the  receding  domes  and  towers  of  the  city.  At  length, 
we  touched  the  solid  ground,  and  sped  away  over  the 
boundless  plain.  It  was  early  morning.  The  sun  had 
just  waked  the  dew  from  the  grass,  and  filled  the  air 
with  the  perfume  of  flowers  and  the  song  of  birds. 
Again  the  heavens  smiled  upon  us.  W e looked  up  into  a 
soft,  blue  sky.  On  our  right  were  the  glorious  moun- 
tains, which  stand  like  a mighty  wall  along  the  north  of 
Italy,  to  guard  the  enchanted  ground.  Thus,  with  every 
sense  intoxicated,  we  swept  on  over  plains  which  had 
been  trodden  by  Roman  armies,  and  past  cities  famed  in 
Roman  and  V enetian  story. 

As  our  time  was  limited,  we  could  only  give  a distant 
and  regretful  look  to  Padua  and  Vicenza.  But  we  could 
not  thus  pass  by  the  Amphitheatre  of  V erona.  Here  we 

245 


246 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


were  set  down  at  eleven  o’clock,  and  at  once  shouted  for 
a carriage  to  take  us  around  the  town.  Of  course  you 
think  you  see  us  straightway  riding  under  the  arches  of 
the  mighty  arena,  and  there  musing  like  two  romantic 
travellers.  Not  a bit  of  it.  The  first  sight  we  wished 
to  see  was  a good  hotel,  for,  as  we  had  left  Venice  early 
in  the  morning,  we  were  like  famished  wolves.  Hunger 
is  a dreadful  killer  of  romance,  and  just  then  we 
were  in  no  mood  for  enjoying  either  poetry  or  his- 
tory. “ Coachman,  quick ! gallop  straight  to  the  inn.” 
We  were  soon  there,  and  a bountiful  table  restored  us  to 
a better  frame  of  mind,  and  prepared  us  for  the  proper 
business  of  a tourist.  As  dear  old  Christopher  N orth 
used  to  say,  “ With  a day’s  work  before  one,  there  is 
nothing  like  the  deep,  broad  basis  of  breakfast.”  This 
first  duty  of  man  was  very  heartily  and  satisfactorily 
performed,  and  then  we  felt  sufficiently  revived  for  his- 
torical researches  and  sentimental  emotions.  Now  we 
began,  with  fond  and  tender  interest,  to  haunt  old 
*tombs,  and  churches,  and  palaces.  Verona  has  a double 
charm,  from  its  great  natural  beauty,  and  its  rich  histori- 
cal associations.  It  is  very  picturesquely  situated,  being 
surrounded  by  hills,  and  in  full  view  of  the  snowy  Alps. 
It  is  divided  into  two  cities,  cleft  in  twain  by  the  foam- 
ing Adige,  which  comes  down  from  the  mountains  and 
rushes  through  it,  swift  as  the  41  arrowy  Rhone.”  It  is 
an  old  Roman  city,  and  still  retains  many  traces  of  the 
imperial  people.  Several  of  the  streets  are  spanned  by 


AMPHITHEATRE  OF  VERONA. 


24 1 


arches  of  ponderous  stone,  the  work  of  their  giant 
hands.  But  the  greatest  monument  which  they  have 
left  is  the  Amphitheatre,  which,  though  not  so  large,  is 
much  more  perfectly  preserved  than  the  Coliseum  at 
Rome.  Here  the  gladiators  fought.  We  entered  the 
dens  in  which  the  wild  beasts  were  kept,  gloomy  vaults 
which  once  shook  with  the  roar  of  African  lions,  and  out 
of  which  tigers  bounded  into  the  arena.  Here,  where 
we  stand,  was  the  tribune  of  the  emperor,  from  which  he 
could  look  down  on  the  horrid  sight.  Around  him  were 
thirty  thousand  spectators;  and  murmurs  of  applause, 
and  shouts  of  triumph  ran  along  these  stony  seats  at  the 
spectacle  of  some  dying  gladiator 

“ Butchered  to  make  a Roman  holiday.” 

The  middle  ages,  too,  have  left  their  traces  here.  The 
Piazza  dei  Signori  is  surrounded  with  old  palaces  that 
belonged  to  ancient  families  that  were  once  powerful 
in  the  north  of  Italy.  Here  are  buried  the  Scaligers — 
once  the  princes  of  Verona.  Bold  knights  were  they, 

“ Braver  ne’er  to  battle  rode.” 

But  now  their  glory  and  their  pride  are  gone.  Their 
bones  are  dust,  and  all  that  remains  of  them  is  but  a 
melancholy  tomb ! 

But  Verona  has  more  cheerful  sights,  ana  more  plea- 
sant memories.  I have  not  seen  a gayer  spectacle  than 
the  Piazza  del  Erbe,  or  flower  market,  when  filled  with 


248 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


pretty  maids  from  all  the  country  round,  selling  fruits 
and  flowers,  so  that  the  whole  square  blossoms  like  a 
huge  bouquet  of  roses. 

In  these  streets,  too,  Shakspeare  has  made  to  walk 
his  “Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona.”  Our  coachman, 
faithful  to  the  duty  of  hunting  up  every  spot  named  in 
tradition,  drove  us  past  the  palace  of  the  Capulets — the 
very  one  in  which  lived  the  gentle  Juliet!  So  he 
assured  us.  And  who  would  doubt  the  word  of  an 
Italian  cicerone  ? I for  one  would  not  be  guilty  of  such 
unbelief.  So  I looked  up  to  the  old  walls  with  all  due 
reverence,  and  fancied  I almost  saw  the  form  of  Juliet 
stealing  out  upon  the  balcony,  in  the  moonlight,  and 
heard  her  musical  voice  whispering  to  her  faithful 
Romeo. 

Verona  has  several  quaint  old  churches,  which  are 
worthy  to  be  sought  out  by  the  curious  traveller.  The 
most  remarkable  of  these  is  dedicated  to  a black  man,  St. 
Zeno ! His  statue  still  adorns  the  edifice,  and  its  flat 
nose  and  thick  lips  show  him  to  have  been  a full-blooded 
African.  It  is  a good  proof  that  the  primitive  church 
paid  no  respect  to  race,  when  the  honors  of  saintship 
were  thus  conferred  on  “ a gentleman  of  color.” 

These  churches  are  remarkable,  also,  for  a style  of 
architecture  which  is  peculiar,  and  some  would  think 
grotesque.  The  walls  are  built  of  alternate  layers  of 
white  stone  and  red  brick,  which  gives  them  a striped 
appearance.  To  complete  the  strange  effect,  the  columns 


SINGULAR  ARCHITECTURE. 


249 


in  front  rest  their  solid  feet  upon  the  backs  of  lions ! so 
that  it  requires  but  little  imagination  to  animate  the 
whole  structure ; to  imagine  it  a huge  zebra  or  a 
cameleopard,  couchant,  but,  if  startled,  ready  to  spring 
up  and  run  away.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  the  effect  of  such 
a building  Aere,  with  all  its  Italian  surroundings,  is  not 
unpleasing.  It  is  a style  which  I have  met  nowhere  but 
in  Italy,  and  here  in  but  a few  towns.  Ten  years  ago,  I 
saw  several  such  churches  in  Parma.  There  is  one 
example  of  this  in  America — the  church  of  Dr.  Bellows, 
in  New  York.  But  whether  such  an  architecture  will 
bear  to  cross  the  sea,  is  a question.  There  are  edifices 
which  harmonize  only  with  a peculiar  climate  and  people, 
and  with  their  historical  or  religious  associations.  Thus, 
pyramids  belong  to  Egypt,  and  pagodas  to  China 
and  Japan;  and  it  would  be  as  difficult  to  transport 
either  to  the  New  World,  as  to  make  palm  trees 
flourish  in  the  Central  Park,  as  well  as  in  their  native 
deserts. 

The  political  condition  of  Yerona,  as  of  all  Lombardy, 
is  sad  enough.  The  city  has  been  honored  by  the  pre- 
sence of  many  powerful  princes,  but  all  together  seem  to 
have  done  little  for  its  liberties.  Here  was  held  the  fa- 
mous Congress  of  Yerona.  We  saw  the  palace  in  which 
the  allied  sovereigns  assembled  in  1822  to  carry  out  the  po- 
litical interference  in  the  affairs  of  other  nations,  which  had 
been  adopted  as  the  settled  policy  of  the  Holy  Alliance. 
The  subjects  here  discussed  were  principally  the  affairs 

11* 


250 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


of  Greece,  and  Spain,  and  Portugal.  The  result  of 
these  deliberations  was  the  invasion  of  Spain  by  a French 
army  the  following  year,  to  put  down  the  constitution. 

Seldom  has  there  been  an  assembly  on  whose  fiat 
more  depended.  Yet  this  Council  of  Kings  was  com- 
posed, in  great  part,  at  least,  of  very  common  and 
very  dull  men.  The  most  remarkable  personages  were 
not  the  sovereigns,  but  the  ministers  who  attended  them, 
or  who  represented  absent  monarchs,  as  the  Duke  of 
Wellington  appeared  for  the  majesty  of  England.  One 
who  was  a looker  on  in  Y erona  at  the  time,  says  : 

“ Whilst  looking  at  the  cluster  of  crowned  heads,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  remark  that  the  absolute  lords  of 
so  many  millions  of  men  had  not  only  nothing  to  distin- 
guish them  from  the  common  race  of  mankind,  but  were, 
in  appearance,  inferior  to  what  might  be  expected  from 
the  same  number  of  gentlemen  taken  at  hazard  from  any 
society  in  Europe.  Nor  was  there  to  be  seen  a trait 
expressive  of  any  great  or  attractive  quality  in  all  those 
who  were  to  be  the  sources  of  so  much  happiness  or 
misery  to  so  large  a portion  of  the  civilized  world.  Yet 
some  of  these  were  notoriously  good  men  in  their  private 
capacity,  and  scarcely  one  of  them  has  been  distinguished 
for  vices  eminently  pernicious  to  society,  or  any  other 
than  the  venial  failings  of  humanity ; or,  as  a writer  of 
no  democratic  tendency  says  of  them,  c all  excellent  per- 
sons in  private  life,  all  scourges  of  the  countries  sub- 
mitted to  their  sway !’ 


I HE  CONGRESS  OF  VERONA. 


‘251 


“ Of  the  Sovereigns  at  Verona,  the  Emperor  Alexan- 
der took  the  most  pains  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the 
Veronese,  by  rambling  about  in  pretended  incognito, 
and  seizing  the  hands  of  the  ladies  whom  he  happened 
to  encounter  in  the  streets,  or  giving  sequins  to  the 
boys  at  play.  He  one  day  amused  himself  with  carrying 
up  the  coffee  to  his  brother  of  Austria,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  Francis  discovered  that  he  was  waited  upon 
by  an  emperor  in  disguise. 

“ To  prepare  for  the  Congress  two  hundred  policemen 
were  dispatched  from  Venice  to  Verona,  and  two  hun- 
dred from  Milan.  The  number  of  troops  in  the  city  and 
round  it  amounted  to  10,000.  The  principal  employment 
of  the  police  was  to  watch  the  proceedings  of  those  to 
whom  it  was  not  desirable  the  Italians  should  have  pro- 
miscuous access.  The  Emperor  Alexander  and  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  were  the  especial  objects  of  their 
care.  The  latter  peculiarly  so ; for  he  had  been  much 
cheered  in  St.  Mark’s  Square  at  Venice,  and  had  become, 
unwittingly  no  doubt,  very  popular  by  appearing  in  the 
pit  at  the  opera-house  there  in  plain  clothes.”  * 

Verona  is  strongly  fortified,  and  is  one  of  the  central 
positions  of  the  Austrian  army.  J list  outside  the  walls, 
the  sanguinary  battle  of  St.  Lucia,  was  fought  with  the 
Sardinians,  in  May,  1848.  But  those  great  days  of  revo- 
lution and  of  hope  are  over,  and  the  black  eagle  now 
floats  over  fortress  and  field. 


* Lord  Broughton’s  Italy. 


252 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


These  political  reflections  cast  a shadow  over  the  whole 
of  Lombardy.  They  rest  like  a cloud  on  the  brow  of 
the  Alps,  and  sink  drooping  to  the  plains  below.  The 
more  beautiful  grows  the  landscape,  the  darker  seems 
the  shadow  which  rests  over  the  land.  Soon  after  we 
left  Verona,  we  came  in  sight  of  the  Lago  di  Garda, 
which  lies  so  calmly  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  seeming  to 
rest  its  head  upon  their  breast,  and  reflecting  in  its  broad 
mirror,  at  once,  the  mountain  and  the  sky.  Yet  even 
this  tranquil  scene  is  darkened  by  the  frowning  fortress 
of  Peschiera,  where  the  drum-beat  summons  to  arms, 
not  Italians,  but  the  conquerors  of  Italy.  It  was  sad  to 
mark  these  signs  of  Austrian  power  reestablished  here 
on  these  shores,  which  have  witnessed  so  many  of  their 
signal  defeats,  which  have  echoed  the  thunder  of  Rivoli 
and  of  Castiglione. 

In  our  railway  carriage  was  a young  Italian,  whose 
blood  boiled  at  these  signs  of  the  oppression  of  his 
country,  He  spoke  bitterly,  as  he  pomted  out  the  fort- 
ress of  Brescia,  where  the  butcher  Ilaynau  perpetrated  a 
cowardly  massacre  of  the  people,  in  1849.  The  Italians, 
he  said,  could  never  be  reconciled  tr  the  Austrian  yoke. 
For  the  present  they  were  silent,  for  they  had  no  power 
to  help  themselves.  But  the  hatred  of  the  people  to 
their  foreign  masters  remained  the  same.  “The  Aus- 
trians know  it  well,”  he  said.  *'  They  know  that  be- 
tween them  and  us  there  is  eternal  war ; and  that  the 
day  that  we  get  the  power,  they  wiU  be  driven  from  the 


THE  CAMPAIGN  OF  1848. 


253 


land.  It  may  be  long  to  wait ; but  the  day  will  come, 
and  then  will  be  witnessed  a terrible  retribution  1” 

W e had  been  riding  over  the  theatre  of  the  campaign 
of  1848,  and  had  talked  much  of  the  triumphs  and 
reverses  of  that  eventful  summer.  With  sad  thoughts 
we  recalled  those  days  wrhen  the  prize  of  Italian  liberty, 
the  dream  of  poets  and  patriots,  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
victorious  people,  and  was  lost  through  the  incapacity 
of  their  leaders,  and  their  own  unhappy  divisions. 

Ten  years  ago  it  seemed  as  if  the  set  time  of  God  to 
favor  the  nations  had  come.  The  spring  of  that  memor- 
able year  was  hailed  as  the  dawn  of  universal  liberty. 
The  revolution  in  Paris  was  the  morning  gun  that  startled 
Europe,  but  even  that  hardly  caused  such  astonishment 
as  when  an  echo  came  back  from  Vienna.  Then  the 
people  of  Milan  rose  upon  the  Austrian  troops.  They 
fought  from  house  to  house,  and  from  street  to  street, 
and  even  on  the  roof  of  the  Cathedral,  till  the  popular 
fury  prevailed  over  a disciplined  soldiery,  and  Radetzky, 
with  his  whole  army,  defiled  out  of  the  city  gates  by 
night,  and  retreated  across  the  plains  of  Lombardy. 
Then,  indeed,  it  seemed  that  the  great  battle  was  Avon. 
Italy  was  free,  and  the  joy  of  the  people  knew  no 
bounds.  With  exultant  hearts  they  thronged  to  the 
Cathedral  to  give  solemn  thanks  to  God  for  their 
victory. 

To  SAvell  the  general  triumph,  hardly  had  Radetzky 
fled  from  Milan,  before  Charles  Albert  crossed  the 


254 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


frontier  with  a Sardinian  army  in  hot  pursuit.  At  every 
step  numbers  were  added  to  the  invading  host.  The 
revolutionary  enthusiasm  had  spread  throughout  the 
Peninsula.  The  watch-fires  were  blazing  along  the 
Apennines,  and  Tuscans,  and  Romans,  and  Neapolitans 
marched  to  join  the  glorious  army  of  liberty.  At  the 
same  time  the  Italian  regiments  in  the  Austrian  army 
deserted  their  flag.  Thus  weakened  in  numbers  and 
dispirited  by  defeat,  Radetzky  withdrew  his  shattered 
troops  within  the  walls  of  Mantua,  while  the  King 
of  Sardinia  mustered  an  array  of  nearly  a hundred 
thousand  men,  in  all  the  confidence  of  victory.  Little 
did  he  think  that,  in  a few  weeks,  that  magnificent  army 
would  be  scattered  like  the  autumn  leaves  ! 

At  that  moment  it  seemed  to  human  eye  as  if  the 
power  of  Austria  in  Italy  was  broken  forever.  Indeed,  the 
Cabinet  of  Vienna  itself  felt  that  the  battle  was  lost,  and 
sought,  in  terms  .almost  abject  and  humiliating,  to  make 
peace  with  the  victorious  people.  A commissioner  from 
the  emperor  appeared  with  a formal  proposition  to 
Charles  Albert  to  give  up  the  whole  of  Lombardy,  if 
she  would  but  assume  her  portion  of  the  public  debt. 
Austria  offered  to  divide  the  territory  of  Northern  Italy 
by  the  line  of  the  Adige,  surrendering  Lombardy  to 
Sardinia,  while  she  retained  only  the  Venetian  territory. 
The  king,  who  knew  the  hazards  of  battle,  was  strongly 
inclined  to  accept  these  terms,  but  the  fiery  Italians 
denounced  the  proposal  as  a betrayal  of  Venice.  They 


THE  CAMPAIGN  OF  1848. 


255 


would  have  all  of  Italy  or  none.  And  so,  finally,  they 
had  none. 

All  this  while  the  veteran  Radetzky  kept  behind  the 
walls  of  Mantua  and  Verona,  biding  his  time.  Charles 
Albert,  distracted  by  these  negotiations,  and  not  knowing 
very  well  how  to  conduct  a vigorous  campaign,  sat 
down  before  the  walls  of  Mantua.  Now  a siege  of 
Mantua  is  about  as  hopeless  an  undertaking  as  would  be 
a siege  of  Gibraltar.  It  is  surrounded  by  a network 
of  streams,  and  can  only  be  approached  over  bridges. 
Here  the  Austrian  chief,  secure  behind  his  bastions, 
calmly  awaited  the  arrival  of  reinforcements.  In  a few 
weeks  the  Austrian  bugles  were  heard  in  the  passes  of  the 
Tyrol,  and  their  long  columns  came  winding  down  into 
the  plains  of  Italy.  The  arrival  of  these  fresh  battalions 
put  the  Austrians  in  condition  to  take  the  field,  and 
Radetzky,  though  an  old  man,  well  stricken  in  years, 
did  not  lose  a moment.  Issuing  from  his  stronghold,  he 
completely  outgeneralled  Charles  Albert,  turned  his 
flank,  and  attacked  him  in  the  rear.  In  a fortnight  he 
fought  half-a-dozen  battles,  and  was  victorious  in  every 
one,  driving  the  Piedmontese  army  before  him  from 
Mantua  to  Milan,  and  across  the  frontier  into  Sardinia. 
Thus  in  a few  short  days,  the  glorious  prize  of  Italian 
liberty  was  lost,  and  that  beautiful  territory  again 
consigned  to  years  of  foreign  dominion. 

These  are  bitter  memories.  Never  had  a people  such 
an  opportunity  to  be  free.  The  juncture  was  one  which 


256 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


might  not  recur  again  in  a century.  Yet  all  was  lost 
through  the  divisions  of  the  people  and  the  weakness  and 
irresolution  of  their  leader.  Charles  Albert  was  neither 
a traitor  nor  a coward.  He  was  personally  brave,  as  he 
showed  in  every  battle,  and  afterward  on  the  fatal  field 
of  Novara,  but  he  lacked  the  promptness  and  energy, 
the  quickness  of  perception  and  rapidity  of  execution, 
which  are  decisive  in  war.  Had  he  possessed  the  skill — 
not  of  Napoleon,  but  of  a good  French  general,  like 
Changarnier  or  Lamoriciere,  probably  the  Austrians 
would  have  lost  Italy  forever. 

Reflecting  on  these  great  disasters,  and  surveying  the 
field  of  battle,  where  the  fate  of  Italy  has  been  decided 
once,  and  may  be  decided  again,  it  has  seemed  to  me  that 
what  Italy  needs  to  fight  successfully  a war  of  liberty,  is 
a great  military  genius  to  organize  and  direct  her  wild 
enthusiasm  and  her  wasted  strength. 

But  the  blame  of  that  disastrous  campaign  does  not 
belong  to  Charles  Albert  alone,  but  to  the  people  by 
whom  he  was  feebly  supported.  In  the  first  flush  of 
revolution  the  people  fought  with  astonishing  bravery, 
but  that  first  success  spoiled  them.  They  felt  that  the 
battle  was  gained,  and  began  to  dispute  about  the  spoils 
of  war  before  they  had  made  sure  of  the  victory.  I was 
in  Milan  ten  years  ago,  when  the  revolution  was 
triumphant.  Not  an  Austrian  was  to  be  seen.  The 
shop  windows  were  filled  with  caricatures  of  Radetzky. 
But  what  were  the  people  about  ? Oh,  they  were  sitting 


T A ClIC’S  IN  CASE  OF  ANOTHER  WAR. 


257 


in  the  cafes,  or  walking  in  the  public  gardens,  discussing 
whether  they  should  unite  Lombardy  to  Sardinia,  or 
should  have  a Republic ! “ But,”  I said  to  the  eager 

patriots,  “ you  are  not  yet  sure  to  have  a country  to 
dispose  of.  While  you  are  disputing,  the  Austrians  may 
be  upon  you.”  Ha,  ha,  ha ! They  laughed  at  the  very 
idea.  Here  was  the  ruin  of  the  Italian  cause.  They 
were  talking  when  they  ought  to  have  been  lighting.  It 
was  time  enough  to  decide  upon  the  form  of  government 
when  the  battle  of  liberty  was  gained.  But  the  mercu- 
rial Italians  gabbled  politics  till  the  Austrian  cannon 
were  thundering  at  their  gates.  Heaven  grant  that  they 
may  learn  wisdom  from  this  bitter  experience ! 

The  issue  of  the  campaign  of  1848  shows  that  it  will 
never  be  an  easy  matter  to  drive  the  Austrians  out  of 
Italy.  Even  if  the  people  were  to  rise  again  in  every 
city,  and  were  again  victorious ; if  the  Sardinians  again 
should  march  to  the  Holy  War ; nay,  if  the  French  were 
to  cross  the  Alps  and  pour  down  in  countless  numbers 
on  the  plains  of  Lombardy,  still  victory  would  be  by  no 
means  certain.  At  first  these  combined  forces  might 
carry  all  before  them.  But  then  it  is  probable  the 
Austrians  would  repeat  the  tactics  of  Radetzky  in  1848. 
If  forced  to  abandon  Milan,  they  would  fall  back  upon 
Mantua  and  Verona.  And  then  would  come  the  tug  of 
war.  If  you  look  on  the  map,  you  will  see  that  there 
the  Austrians  occupy  one  of  the  strongest  military 
positions  in  all  Europe,  resting  on  four  strong  fortresses, 


258 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


which  are  so  situated  as  to  support  each  other.  V erona 
and  Mantua,  with  Legnago  and  Peschiera,  stand  at  the 
angles  of  a square,  or  rhomboid.  Their  ramparts,  brist- 
ling with  cannon,  appear  like  a vast  battalion  thrown  into 
a hollow  square  to  repel  a charge  of  cavalry.  This 
strong  position  cannot  be  attacked  with  much  prospect 
of  success — or  at  least  of  immediate  success.  It  cost 
the  great  Napoleon  nine  months  to  take  Mantua,  and 
so  well  did  he  know  its  importance,  that  when  once  he 
got  it,  he  never  gave  it  up  until  he  lost  his  throne. 

This  almost  impregnable  military  position  is  in  direct 
communication  with  Austria  by  the  passes  of  the  Tyrol. 
Here,  then,  an  Austrian  army  would  wait  in  all  security, 
as  Radetzky  waited,  endeavoring  only  to  maintain  itself 
until  it  wearied  out  the  enemy,  or  until  some  unguarded 
movement  enabled  it  to  strike  a decisive  blow. 

But  not  only  is  this  a very  strong  position  for  defence, 
it  is  one  of  great  danger  to  an  enemy.  An  invading 
army,  attempting  to  drive  the  Austrians  out  of  Lom- 
bardy, must  advance  into  this  network  of  fortresses, 
where  any  false  step  exposes  it  to  destruction.  Napoleon 
once  got  caught  here  and  extricated  himself  only  by  a 
succession  of  battles  and  victories.  All  obstacles  were 
overcome  by  his  extraordinary  military  genius.  But 
Napoleon  is  dead,  and  he  has  left  no  successor. 

In  default  of  such  marvellous  skill,  there  is  no  resource 
but  in  an  overwhelming  strength.  The  invading  army 
must  be  so  superior  in  numbers  that  it  can  afford  to 


MILA3J. 


259 


divide,  and  leave  one  great  division  to  beleaguer  Mantua 
and  Verona,  while  another,  aided  by  a fleet  in  the  Adriatic, 
marches  upon  V enice,  or  even  upon  Vienna.  Otherwise, 
if  the  forces  are  but  equal,  as  the  advantages  of  position 
are  all  on  the  side  of  Austria,  nothing  but  the  most 
extraordinary  military  combinations,  or  some  unaccount- 
able fortune  of  war,  can  make  the  balance  incline  to  the 
other  side. 

It  was  night  when  we  reached  Milan,  and  were  whirled 
along  the  Corso  to  the  Hotel  de  la  Ville.  I will  not 
linger  long  to  describe  the  Lombard  capital.  It  is  a large 
and  prosperous  city,  but  as  it  lies  on  a plain,  its  general 
appearance  is  in  no  wise  grand  or  imposing.  Of  its 
sights,  what  need  that  I speak — of  the  Arch  of  Napoleon, 
built  to  commemorate  the  completion  of  the  Simplon 
road  over  the  Alps — of  the  Last  Supper  of  Leonardo  da 
Vinci — and  the  ancient  church  of  St.  Ambrose,  where 
}hat  heroic  father  debarred  the  Emperor  Theodosius 
from  entering  the  house  of  God  till  he  had  repented  of 
his  crimes;  and  where,  among  other  holy  relics,  they 
keep  the  brazen  serpent  which  Moses  set  up  in  the 
wilderness,  and  which  will  open  its  fiery  lips  and  hiss  at 
the  judgment  day ! 

These  are  objects  of  interest,  and  yet  for  me  Milan 
contains  but  one  great  sight,  beside  which  all  else  sinks 
into  insignificance.  It  is  the  Cathedral, 

“ The  vast  and  wondrous  dome, 

Compared  to  which  Diana’s  temple  was  a cell.” 


260 


SUMMER  PICTURES 


The  Basilica  of  Milan  is  one  of  the  few  great  temples 
which  it  is  worth  crossing  the  Atlantic  to  see.  It  covers 
nearly  three  acres  in  extent,  and  has  been  hundreds  of 
years  in  building.  Go  where  you  will,  within  many 
miles,  you  cannot  lose  sight  of  it.  Riding  around  the 
ramparts,  from  every  point  this  mighty  form  is  seen 
rising  up  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  almost  as  abrupt  and 
lofty  as  the  castle  of  Edinburgh.  Approach  it,  and  it 
loses  none  of  its  majesty.  Enter  the  open  door,  and  you 
are  awed  at  the  sight.  The  long-drawn  aisle,  the  rows 
of  massive  columns  on  either  hand,  the  lofty  ceiling,  the 
whole  interior  so  vast  and  dim,  give  an  impression  of 
majesty  such  as  I have  received  from  no  other  temple 
reared  by  human  hands,  or  have  found  in  St.  Peter’s  alone. 

But  to  get  the  full  impression  of  this  vast  pile,  one 
should  see  it  at  night,  and  by  the  light  of  the  full  moon. 
It  is  built  of  white  marble,  and  covered  with  thousands 
of  pointed  spires,  on  which  are  clustered  statues  of  all 
the  saints  of  Christendom.  And  at  night,  when  the  pale 
moonlight  falls  quivering  on  every  shaft  and  pinnacle,  the 
whole  glorious  form  seems  transfigured.  As  I walked 
beneath  it  at  such  an  hour,  it  seemed  a fair  vision  of 
some  brighter  world  than  ours,  such  a one  as  John  saw, 
when  he  described  the  New  Jerusalem,  let  down  from 
God  out  of  heaven  ! 

But  even  this  temple  is  invaded  by  soldiers,  and  flashes 
with  arms  and  waving  banners.  Yesterday  we  were 
present  at  a brilliant  spectacle  in  the  Cathedral,  when  a 


THE  ARCHDUKE  MAXIMILIAN. 


261 


sacred  Te  Deum  was  performed  for  the  birth  of  a son  to 
the  Emperor  of  Austria.  Of  course  the  army  was  out  in 
full  array.  Hundreds  of  officers  stood  along  the  nave  in 
scarlet  and  gold.  The  Viceroy  came  in  state,  and  was 
received  by  the  Archbishop.  The  organ  blew  its  blast, 
and  the  cannon  roared,  but  from  the  people  not  a voice 
was  heard — not  a shout,  nor  a viva ! There  was  no 
cheering,  no  enthusiasm.  We  thought  it,  on  the  whole, 
a very  spiritless  affair,  and  were  quite  willing  to  leave 
Milan  without  waiting  to  see  the  illumination  in  the 
evening. 

The  Austrian  government  is  fully  aware  of  the  hatred 
of  the  people.  After  having  once  narrowly  escaped  the 
loss  of  Italy,  it  now  endeavors  to  conciliate  its  subject 
population.  The  new  Viceroy  is  the  Archduke  Maximi- 
lian, a brother  to  the  Emperor,  a young  man  of  marked 
ability,  and  of  principles  exceedingly  liberal  for  one  of  a 
royal  family.  He  has  entered  upon  his  office  with  a reso- 
lute determination  to  introduce  many  needed  reforms, 
and  to  give  to  Lombardy  a government  of  which  its 
people  cannot  complain. 

-All  this  is  well  meant,  and  no  doubt  will  make  him 
personally  popular.  But  that  does  not  remove  the  diffi- 
culty. Amiable  qualities,  and  kind  dispositions,  are  of 
little  avail  when  thwarted  by  the  stern  necessities  of  an 
inflexible  political  system.  Already  the  young  Viceroy 
finds  himself  hampered  by  restrictions  at  Vienna. 
He  finds  too,  that  it  is  not  so  easy  to  make  Italians 


262 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


contented  with  a foreign  yoke,  and  he  sometimes  feels 
like  abandoning  the  attempt  in  despair.  “Whatever 
I may  do  for  this  people,”  he  says,  “to  the  Italians 
I am  still  a German.”  Here  he  touches  the  vital  point. 
The  question  is  not  whether  Austria  governs  well  or  ill, 
but  what  right  she  has  to  govern  at  all.  “ Italy  for  the 
Italians,”  is  the  cry  of  every  patriot  from  Venice  to 
Naples,  and  this  appeal  for  liberty  and  independence  will 
not  be  satisfied  while  Austrians  guard  the  square  of  St. 
Mark  and  the  citadel  of  Milan. 

My  soul  is  sick  of  all  this  array  of  force  to  oppress  a 
brave  and  noble  people.  We  have  left  the  city  to  seek 
more  peaceful  thoughts  in  the  presence  of  Nature. 
Here,  on  Lake  Como,  we  are  on  the  borders  of  Switzer- 
land, and  wTe  feel  a new  life  as  wTe  breathe  the  free  air  of 
the  hills.  Lake  Como  is  surrounded  with  mountains, 
whose  sides  are  sprinkled  over  with  cottages,  while 
many  a princely  villa  dots  its  rocky  shores.  This, 
indeed,  is  a place  of  rest.  Here  many  have  sought  a 
retreat  from  the  world,  to  pass  the  rest  of  their  days  in 
tranquillity  and  peace.  Gliding  over  its  waters,  many  a 
restless  spirit  has  felt,  like  Byron, 

“ This  quiet  sail  is  as  a noiseless  wing 
To  bear  me  from  destruction.” 

And  here,  for  a few  hours  among  these  hills,  we  will  cease 
to  think  of  all  the  oppressions  that  are  done  under  the 
sun,  and  try  to  forget  the  long  tale  of  misery  and  crime. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Lakes  Como  and  Maggiore — The  Battle-Field  of  Novara — Abdica- 
tion of  Charles  Albert — His  Voluntary  Exile  and  Death — 
Turin — The  King  and  the  People — Hatred  of  the  Austrians — 
Part  in  the  Russian  War — Crossing  Mont  Cenis. 

Chambery,  Sept.  1,  1858. 

The  lakes  Como  and  Maggiore  derive  their  peculiar 
charm  from  the  union,  of  Swiss  and  Italian  scenery. 
Their  heads  lie  bosomed  in  the  snowy  Alps,  wdiile,  as 
they  stretch  away  to  the  south,  Nature  seems  to  relent 
from  her  sternness,  the  mountains  sink  down  into  hills, 
and  thence  decline  into  those  soft,  sunny  slopes  which 
mark  the  land  of  the  olive  and  the  vine.  We  sailed  up 
the  whole  length  of  Lake  Como,  to  the  very  entrance  of 
the  Splugen  pass,  and  returned  down  the  lake  the  next 
morning.  Thus  we  saw  it  twice,  at  different  hours,  and 
by  different  lights,  at  sunrise  and  at  sunset,  and  by  the 
round,  full  moon.  Perhaps  the  most  impressive  moment 
was  just  “ twixt  light  and  dark,”  when  the  gathering 
gloom  of  evening  began  to  lift,  as  the  mountains,  like 
clouds, 

“ Turned  their  silver  linings  to  the  night.” 

We  had  been  sitting  for  hours  upon  deck,  watching  the 

263 


264 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


giant  forms,  as  they  appeared  by  the  light  of  the  dying 
day.  We  marked  the  sunset  as  it  climbed  their  rugged 
sides,  and  lingered  on  their  cold  peaks.  At  length  the 
last  ray  disappeared.  “ It  was  gone,  and  all  was  grey.” 
Then  the  mountains  grew  large  and  black,  and  the 
shadows  fell  heavy  on  the  waters.  But  soon  a faint 
silver  ray  shot  upward  from  behind,  and  gleamed  along 
the  tall  feathery  pines,  that  fringed  the  summits.  Higher 
and  higher  rose  the  queen  of  night,  till  she  touched  the 
mountain’s  head,  and  soared  into  the  sky,  casting  down 
her  full-orbed  radiance  upon  the  lake  below,  which  quiv- 
ered beneath  such  a flood  of  glory,  as  if  she  felt  a thrill 
of  hwe  within  her  chilly  breast.  * 

When  the  sun  arose,  we  were  again  upon  the  lake, 
returning  to  the  town  of  Como,  which  lies  at  its  foot, 
from  which  a diligence  brought  us  over  the  hills  to  Lake 
Maggiore.  It  is  an  upland  region,  from  which  we  caught 
many  a view  of  the  far-off  mountains,  and  the  waters 
that  lie  between.  Lake  Maggiore,  as  its  name  imports, 
is  larger  than  her  sister  Como,  yet  not  more  beautiful, 
except  for  those  two  green  islets,  Isola  Madre,  and  Isola 
Bella,  which,  with  their  terraced  gardens,  form  an 
object  so  striking  and  picturesque  in  the  midst  of  the 
waters. 

Lake  Maggiore  belongs  to  three  countries.  Switzer- 
land looks  down  upon  it  from  her  Alpine  home.  Austria, 
as  master  of  Lombardy,  guards  it  on  the  east,  and  Sar- 
dinia on  the  west.  We  were  glad  to  get  out  of  that 


THE  WAR  RENEWED. 


2C5 


wide  empire,  whose  name  is  synonymous  with  despotism, 
and  to  find  ourselves  once  more  in  a free  country.  From 
Arona,  at  the  foot  of  Lake  Maggiore,  a railway  brought 
us  on  to  Novara — the  scene  of  the  last  battle  between 
the  Austrians  and  Sardinians  in  1849.  As  we  traversed 
the  field,  now  silent  and  peaceful,  we  could  not  but  recall 
the  scenes  of  that  fatal  day,  on  which  the  King  of  Sardi- 
nia lost  his  throne,  and  the  last  hope  of  Italy  perished. 

When,  after  the  disastrous  campaign  of  1848,  Charles 
Albert  was  driven  out  of  Lombardy,  he  entered  into  an 
armistice  with  Marshal  Radetzky,  which,  of  course, 
both  expected  would  be  the  prelude  to  a definite  and 
permanent  peace.  But  when  the  king  got  back  to  Turin, 
he  found  that  he  had  raised  a storm  which  he  could  not 
quell.  Stung  by  their  defeat,  and  conscious  that  it  was 
not  owing  to  any  want  of  valor  on  their  part,  the  brave 
Piedmontese  burned  for  another  chance  to  wipe  out  the 
national  disgrace.  This  ardor  was  kept  up  by  the 
excitement  in  other  parts  of  Italy.  The  whole  peninsula 
was  still  agitated,  and  young  patriots  were  burning  to 
renew  the  war  of  liberty.  The  popular  enthusiasm  was 
too  strong  to  be  resisted.  If  violently  repressed,  it 
threatened  to  break  out  into  Republicanism.  The  Sar- 
dinian parliament  came  together  on  the  first  of  F ebruary, 
and  the  king  addressed  the  chambers  in  a speech  full  of 
Italian  fire,  in  which  he  pointed  distinctly  to  the  neces- 
sity of  again  resorting  to  arms. 

By  the  terms  of  the  armistice  it  had  been  agreed  that 

12 


266 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


if  either  party^should  decide  to  resume  hostilities,  it 
should  give  the  other  eight  days’  notice.  Charles  Albert 
determined  to  open  the  campaign  on  the  20th  of  March, 
and  accordingly  on  the  1 2th  a courier  was  sent  off  with  all 
speed  from  Turin  to  Milan  to  bear  the  formal  declaration. 

Marshal  Radetzky  had  been  expecting  this  issue,  and 
it  did  not  take  him  by  surprise.  The  old-war  horse 
snuffed  the  battle  from  afar.  Never  was  tidings  more 
eagerly  welcomed  than  this  by  the  garrison  of  Milan, 
who  hailed  it  as  a new  call  to  victory  and  glory. 
Though  Radetzky  had  grown  grey  in  arms  (he  was  now 
eighty-three  years  old),  and  might  claim  exemption  from 
the  fatigues  of  a new  campaign,  he  acted  with  a promp- 
titude and  energy  which  his  enemies  might  admire,  but 
certainly  did  not  imitate.  Orders  were  at  once  sent  off 
to  the  Austrian  detachments  to  leave  small  garrisons  in 
the  towns,  and  march  with  their  whole  force  to  join  him. 
This  course,  indeed,  involved  the  danger  of  insurrections 
in  his  rear.  He  well  knew  that  if  he  experienced  any 
check,  the  whole  country  would  break  out  in  another 
revolution.  In  fact,  the  people  did  rise  in  Brescia,  and 
overpowered  the  garrison,  and  were  for  several  days 
masters  of  the  place,  until  Haynau  marched  upon  them 
from  Venice,  and  put  down  the  revolt  by  a horrid  mas- 
sacre. But  Radetzky  chose  to  run  the  risk  for  the  sake 
of  the  main  chance.  He  knew  that  if  he  could  defeat 
the  Sardinians  in  one  pitched  battle,  all  these  isolated 
insurrections  could  be  easily  suppressed,  and  with  that 


THE  AUSTRIANS  INVADE  PIEDMONT. 


2G7 


* 


decision,  which  shows  him  to  have  been  a thorough  mas- 
ter of  war,  he  determined  to  concentrate  his  whole  force 
and  march  straight  against  the  enemy.  Of  the  troops 
in  Milan,  he  left  but  a small  garrison  in  the  citadel,  and 
marched  out  with  all  the  rest  of  his  army.  Yet  he  did  not 
take  the  direct  road  to  Turin,  but  left  by  the  Roman 
gate,  which  led  some  who  had  seen  him  thus  depart  a 
year  before,  to  jump  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  going 
to  retreat.  But  they  little  understood  him.  lie  kept 
his  counsel,  and  allowed  none  to  penetrate  his  designs. 
He  marched  south,  as  he  had  ordered  the  several  divi- 
sions of  his  army  to  concentrate  at  Pavia,  a city  close  to 
the  Piedmontese  frontier.  His  orders  had  been  promptly 
obeyed.  Exact  at  the  hour,  every  division  entered  the 
appointed  place  of  rendezvous.  On  the  night  of  the 
19th,  the  whole  army  was  concentrated  around  Pavia, 
nearly  70,000  men,  with  over  200  cannon.  At  twelve 
o’clock  the  next  day  the  armistice  expired,  and  instantly 
the  order  was  given  to  march,  and  before  night  the 
whole  Austrian  army  was  on  the  soil  of  Sardinia. 

This  easy  entrance  into  the  enemy’s  country  was  a 
great  advantage  gained.  As  they  had  to  cross  a river, 
their  passage  might  have  been  disputed,  and  a division  of 
the  Piedmontese  army  had  been  appointed  to  hold  them 
in  check.  But  it  was  not  at  its  post.  This  unaccount- 
able negligence,  it  was  supposed,  was  owing  to  treachery, 
and  General  Ramorino,  who  commanded  this  division, 
was  afterward  tried  by  a court  martial  and  shot.  But 


2G8 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


to  leave  such  a post  in  treacherous  or  incapable  hands, 
showed  the  wretched  management  which  seemed  to 
preside  over  this  whole  campaign. 

While  the  Austrians  were  thus  moving  in  admirable 
concert,  every  battalion  in  line,  in  the  Sardinian  camp 
all  was  confusion.  If  the  government  had  shown  half 
the  energy  and  wisdom  in  preparing  for  war,  that  it  had 
shown  of  rashness  in  rushing  into  it,  the  result  might 
have  been  different.  But  its  councils  seemed  infatuated. 
Carried  away  by  a popular  tumult,  it  had  declared 
war  when  totally  unprepared.  It  had,  indeed,  a 
large  army,  and  braver  soldiers  never  followed  their 
chiefs  to  battle,  but  all  the  fruit  of  courage  was  lost 
by  want  of  organization.  They  had  not  even  a leader  in 
whom  they  had  confidence.  They  had  applied  for  the 
services  of  Marshal  Bugeaud,  the  French  general  who 
had  been  so  distinguished  in  Africa,  but  he  would  not 
accept,  unless  he  could  have  supreme  and  absolute  com- 
mand, and  this  was  thought  to  derogate  from  the  Royal 
dignity ; and  finally  they  took  up  with  a Polish  general, 
who  had  gained  somcf  distinction  in  the  Revolution  of 
1831,  and  who  undoubtedly  possessed  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  war,  but  who  was  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  country  in  which  he  was  to  fight,  and 
the  materials  which  he  was  to  command.  He  could  not 
even  speak  the  language,  and  had  to  give  his  orders 
through  interpreters.  Of  a small,  unimposing  figure, 
there  was  nothing  about  him  to  inspire  confidence  in  an 


THE  BATTLE  OF  NOVARA. 


269 


army  to  which  he  was  a stranger.  The  consequence 
was,  that,  while  every  Austrian  soldier  had  unbounded 
confidence  in  his  chief,  which  was  itself  a pledge  of  vic- 
tory, the  brave  Piedmontese  marched  blindly  into  battle, 
with  nothing  to  rely  upon  but  their  own  unfailing 
courage.  So  unskillful  were  the  combinations,  that  the 
several  divisions  were  left  far  apart,  unsupported  by  each 
other,  by  which  they  were  surprised  in  detail ; and  even 
on  the  field  of  Novara,  it  is  said  that  a large  part  of  the 
troops  were  not  brought  into  battle  at  all,  but  stood, 
waiting  for  orders,  while  the  rest  of  the  army  was  being 
destroyed ! I find  that  the  people  here  do  not  like  to 
speak  of  these  events.  They  can  not  recall  them  without 
shame  and  bitterness.  The  only  redeeming  thing  on 
that  fatal  day  was  the  gallantry  of  the  soldiers,  and  of 
their  unhappy  king.  To  this  no  one  bore  higher  testi- 
mony than  Radetzky  himself.  In  his  official  report  he 
says:  “The  Piedmontese  and  Savoyards  fought  like 
lions ; and  the  unfortunate  Charles  Albert  threw  himself 
into  the  thickest  of  the  danger  upon  every  possible 
opportunity.  His  two  sons  also  fought  with  brilliant 
courage.” 

History  presents  few  sadder  spectacles  than  that  of 
Charles  Albert  on  this  day,  when  he  lost  his  kingdom 
and  crown.  When  he  saw  that  the  battle  was  going 
against  him,  he  sought  to  die  upon  the  field.  All  day  long 
he  remained  within  musket-shot  of  the  most  exposed 
position,  one  which  was  three  times  taken  and  retaken, 


270 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


and  when  General  Durando  took  him  by  the  arm,  and 
tried  to  draw  him  away,  he  replied  : “ It  is  useless  ; it  is 
my  last  day ; let  me  die  !”  But  in  vain  he  sought  this 
release,  though  he  galloped  madly  here  and  there,  turn- 
ing wherever  the  battle  raged.  In  Turin  they  still  keep, 
in  the  hall  of  armor,  the  body  of  the  war-horse  which  he 
rode,  and  it  was  with  no  common  respect  that  I looked 
upon  the  faithful  steed  which  bore  his  master  through 
the  carnage  of  that  dreadful  day.  But  death,  which 
seeks  the  happy,  flies  from  the  unfortunate.  Though 
four  thousand  of  his  brave  soldiers  lay  dead  and  dying 
around  him,  the  unhappy  king  could  not  die.  To  his 
sorrow  and  despair,  he  left  the  scene  of  battle  alive,  but 
only  to  experience  a slow,  lingering  death.  That  night, 
when  all  was  lost,  the  king  sent  for  his  two  sons  and  his 
generals,  and  when  all  were  gathered  around  him,  he 
arose  with  mournful  dignity,  and  said,  “ Gentlemen, 
fortune  has  betrayed  your  courage  and  my  hopes ; our 
army  is  dissolved ; it  would  be  impossible  to  prolong 
the  struggle ; my  task  is  accomplished,  and  I think  I 
shall  render  an  important  service  by  giving  a last  proof 
of  devotedness  in  abdicating  in  favor  of  my  son,  Victor 
Emmanuel,  Duke  of  Savoy.  He  will  obtain  from  Austria 
conditions  of  peace  which  she  would  refuse  if  treating 
with  me.”  At  these  words  all  burst  into  tears.  The 
king  alone  was  calm.  His  son,  who  found  royalty  thrust 
upon  him,  implored  his  father  to  reconsider  his  decision  ; 
but  he  was  inflexible.  He  embraced  his  sons,  and 


THE  KING  ABDICATES THE  WAR  ENDED.  271 


thanked  all  around  him  for  their  devotion  and  fidelity, 
saying  to  them,  “ I am  no  longer  your  king.  Be  faithful 
and  devoted  to  my  son  as  you  have  been  to  me.”  lie 
then  withdrew  to  write  a letter  of  farewell  to  the  queen, 
which  he  charged  his  son  to  deliver  into  her  own  hand. 
A little  after  midnight  he  left  the  palace,  wrapped  in  a 
cloak,  with  only  a single  attendant,  and  entered  a car- 
riage which  was  in  waiting  for  him,  and  in  a few  hours 
this  man,  so  late  at  the  head  of  an  army  and  a kingdom, 
had  bid  a final  adieu  to  Italy ! 

The  next  morning  the  young  king  had  an  interview 
with  Marshal  Radetzky,  and  an  armistice  was  agreed 
upon,  to  be  followed  by  immediate  negotiations  for  a 
permanent  peace,  the  basis  of  which  was  a return  to  the 
state  of  things  before  the  war,  renunciation  by  Sardinia 
of  all  pretensions  to  Lombardy  or  Venice,  and  reim- 
bursement to  Austria  of  all  the  expenses  of  the  war ! 
Such  was  the  issue  of  this  memorable  campaign,  begun 
and  ended  in  five  days ! The  armistice  was  signed 
March  24th,  just  one  year  from  the  time  that  Charles 
Albert  invaded  Lombardy.  Such,  then,  was  the  final 
result  of  all  the  dreams  and  hopes  of  Italian  patriots — 
of  the  expenditure  of  so  much  treasure  and  so  much 
blood ! 

Charles  Albert  retired  to  Portugal,  where  a few 
months  after  he  died  of  a broken  heart.  The  last  scene 
was  inexpressibly  affecting.  Far  from  his  country  and 
his  home,  with  not  a member  of  his  family  beside  him, 


272 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


attended  only  by  one  or  two  of  his  old  officers,  who  wrere 
faithful  to  the  last,  he  breathed  out  his  heroic  soul  to 
God.  But  wdien  he  was  gone,  they  brought  his  body 
back  to  bury  it  with  solemn  pomp.  As  we  came  on  to 
Turin  that  afternoon,  we  saw  at  a distance,  on  a lofty 
height  overlooking  the  valley,  the  church  of  Superga, 
the  burial-place  of  the  Sardinian  kings,  where  his  body 
now  rests  in  peace  after  his  stormy  and  troubled  life. 

History  will  do  justice  to  this  unhappy  prince.  Since 
the  disasters  of  1848  and  ’49,  there  have  not  been  want- 
ing many  to  reproach  him  as  having  betrayed  the  cause 
of  Italian  liberty.  But  it  is  well  known  that  from  early 
years,  from  the  time  that  he  had  been  a member  of  the 
society  of  the  Carbonari,  the  regeneration  of  Italy  had 
been  the  dream  of  his  life.  But  it  was  not  till  1848  that 
he  saw  a hope  of  its  being  realized.  In  endeavoring  to 
create  the  kingdom  of  Upper  Italy,  no  doubt  he  was  led 
partly  by  ambition  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the  House 
of  Savoy,  which  he  expected  to  see  placed  upon  the 
throne.  Still  it  is  but  just  to  believe  that  with  this  per- 
sonal ambition  there  "was  mingled  a patriotic  devotion 
to  his  country. 

Ilis  great  error  was  to  have  attempted  a work  beyond 
his  powers.  The  crisis  was  one  which  called  for  the 
very  highest  civil  and  military  talents  combined,  and 
those  extraordinary  endowments  he  did  not  possess. 
Honest,  true  and  brave,  he  had  not  those  qualities  which 
awe  and  dazzle,  and  control  an  excitable  people.  Sad 


CHARACTER  OF  CHARLES  ALBERT. 


273 


destiny  of  a king,  thus  in  the  very  crisis  of  a nation’s 
fate,  to  be  intrusted  with  power  which  he  knows  not 
how  to  use ; to  reach  forth  to  seize  the  sceptre  of  Italy, 
and  to  grasp  it  with  an  incapable  hand!  Well  might 
this  sovereign  mourn  the  destiny  which  placed  him  in  a 
position  so  exalted  and  difficult,  saying  with  Hamlet : 

“The  time  is  out  of  joint;  0 cursed  spite, 

That  ever  I was  born  to  set  it  right !” 

But  if  it  were  his  misfortune  not  to  be  endowed  with 
those  transcendent  gifts  which  are  always  so  rare  among 
mankind,  let  us  at  least  do  justice  to  his  pure  and  patri- 
otic character.  Afterward,  in  his  exile,  he  said  with  a 
proud  confidence  in  the  purity  of  his  motives,  “ My  country 
may  have  had  better  princes  than  I,  but  none  that  loved  her 
more.  To  render  her  free,  independent  and  great,  I 
have  joyfully  made  every  sacrifice,  except  those  which 
could  not  be  made  with  honor.  When  I saw  that  mo- 
ment arrive,  I envied  the  lot  of  .Perrone  and  Passalac- 
qua,  [generals  killed  at  Novara].  I sought  death,  but 
I could  not  find  it.  Providence  has  not  permitted  the 
regeneration  of  Italy  to  be  accomplished  to-day;  I hope 
that  it  is  only  deferred,  and  that  a passing  adversity  will 
but  warn  the  Italian  people  another  time  to  be  more 
united,  in  order  to  be  invincible.”  * 

Turin  is  a very  regular  city,  “ lying  four  square,”  with 

* See  the  character  of  Charles  Albert,  very  fully  vindicated  in 
the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes , June  and  July,  1854. 

12* 


274 


SUMMER  FICTURES. 


its  streets  crossing  each  other  at  right  angles,  and  has 
almost  as  much  of  a Quaker  look  as  Philadelphia.  It 
has  not  the  architectural  magnificence  of  the  old  cities 
of  Italy,  of  Genoa,  and  Florence,  and  Venice,  and  Rome. 
Still  it  boasts  many  imposing  edifices.  From  our  win- 
dow in  the  Hotel  de  l’Europe,  we  looked  down  upon  the 
court  of  the  Royal  Palace,  which  is  a vast  pile,  flanked 
by  a gallery  of  paintings  and  a hall  of  ancient  armor. 

But  that  which  is  better  than  great  palaces  or 
churches,  is  the  general  appearance  of  prosperity,  and 
that  erect  and  manly  look  which  belongs  only  to  a free 
people.  It  is  refreshing  to  find  ourselves  once  more  in 
a free  country.  Here  we  begin  to  breathe  again.  The 
capital  stands  in  the  valley  of  the  Po,  and  in  full  view 
of  the  Alps,  and  its  people  seem  to  drink  in  freedom 
with  the  air  of  the  mountains,  and  from  the  wild  tor- 
rents of  their  rapid  rushing  rivers.  Here  is  no  jealous 
restriction  of  the  press — no  exclusion  of  foreign  journals, 
nor  muzzling  of  those  at  home.  Men  read,  and  write, 
and  speak,  as  they  please.  There  is  no  restraint  upon 
thought,  or  upon  honest,  manly  tongues. 

Sardinia  is  the  foremost  State  of  Italy,  not  only  in  its 
civil  constitution,  but  in  its  religious  liberty.  Though 
nominally  and  perhaps  sincerely  Roman  Catholic  in  its 
faith,  the  government  has  shown  great  jealousy  of  Papal 
dictation,  and  will  not  submit  to  edicts  from  Rome. 
The  relation  of  the  two  courts,  if  not  one  of  open  war, 
is  at  best  but  an  armed  neutrality.  The  king,  though 


VICTOR  EMMANUEL 


275 


of  course  he  calls  himself  a Catholic  (and  is  ready,  like 
the  young  candidate  at  Oxford,  to  subscribe,  not  only 
the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  but  forty  if  they  wished ),  does 
not  trouble  himself  much  about  any  religion.  His  prin- 
cipal articles  of  faith  are,  to  hate  the  Austrians,  the  Je- 
suits, and  the  Pope ; to  love  liberty  and  to  dream  of 
Italian  independence.  From  all  I hear,  he  is  a true  lib- 
eral, not  merely  from  policy,  but  in  his  heart.  lie  is 
more  democratic  in  his  manners  than  his  predecessors, 
and  has  abolished  much  of  the  foolish  etiquette  of  the 
Court.  lie  is  a thorough  soldier,  inheriting  the  military 
spirit  which  has  always  distinguished  the  House  of  Sa- 
voy. In  the  campaign  of  1848  he  fought  gallantly  at 
his  father’s  side,  and  gained  great  honor  at  the  siege  of 
Peschiera,  and  the  battle  of  Goito.  Such  is  the  man 
who  is  now  the  hope  of  Italy.  Even  in  Lombardy,  the 
ardent  republicans  of  1848  admit  that  the  only  hope 
of  Italian  independence  is  Victor  Emmanuel.  It  would 
be  madness  for  the  patriots  to  attempt  a revolution 
against  Austria,  unless  led  on  by  some  well-organized 
power,  like  that  of  Sardinia.  Though  this  is  not  a great 
nation,  the  lack  of  a wider  dominion  is  partly  compensated 
by  the  vigor  and  spirit  of  the  people.  Sardinia  has  a 
population  of  but  four  and  a half  millions,  yet  she  can 
bring  into  the  field  an  army  of  a hundred  thousand  men, 
and  as  her  small  and  compact  territory  requires  but  few 
garrisons,  the  greater  part  of  this  whole  force  could  be 
moved  forward  to  the  place  of  battle. 


276 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


The  spirit  of  the  king  is  strongly  backed  by  his  Court 
and  people.  Count  Cavour,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
Cabinet,  is  a man  of  remarkable  liberality  in  his  political 
opinions.  He  appreciates  clearly  the  present  condition 
of  Europe,  and  the  part  which  his  country  may  be  called 
to  act,  and  he  has  at  once  the  capacity  and  the  courage 
to  hold  her  firmly  in  her  place  as  the  vanguard  of  the 
free  nations  of  the  continent.  The  people  themselves 
feel  that  they  are  predestined  to  drive  the  Austrians  out 
of  Italy,  and  they  are  impatient  for  the  day  to  come. 

The  Piedmontese  are  fine  soldiers.  Like  the  Swiss, 
they  are  at  home  among  the  mountains,  where  they 
acquire  great  agility  and  strength.  Their  very  step  is 
light  and  springing,  as  if  they  had  learned  it  in  chasing 
the  chamois  of  the  rocks.  Dr.  Schaufller,  of  Constanti- 
nople, told  me  that  he  never  saw  such  fellows  as  the  Sardi- 
nian contingent  that  came  out  in  the  Crimean  war.  They 
went  through  the  streets  with  a bound — not  with  the 
stately  tread  of  the  English  grenadiers.  In  this  they 
are  more  like  the  Zouaves,  who  go  into  battle  like  so 
many  wild  catamounts.  Many  of  those  whom  we  saw  in 
Turin  had  served  in  the  Crimea,  and  wore  the  [Napoleon 
or  Victoria  medal  on  their  breasts. 

Many  times  while  in  Sardinia,  I have  asked  intelligent 
gentlemen,  “Why  did  your  country  meddle  in  the 
Russian  war  ?”  They  answer,  “ She  was  invited  to  take 
part  in  it  by  France  and  England.”  “Yes,  but  is  the 
fact  that  she  is  invited  to  do  a foolish  thing  a reason 


TAUT  IX  THE  RUSSIAN  WAR. 


277 


why  she  should  do  it  ? So  was  Austria  invited  to  join 
the  Allies.  So  was  Prussia.  But  did  either  of  those 
powers  choose  to  sacrifice  its  own  interests,  best  secured 
by  peace,  for  the  doubtful  glory  of  war?  This  over- 
generous  zeal  has  cost  your  country  three  or  four  thou- 
sand of  her  brave  sons,  and  fifty  millions  of  francs !” 
However,  this  alliance  may  have  borne  some  political 
fruit.  It  undoubtedly  raised  the  prestige  of  the  Sar- 
dinian army,  which  behaved  with  great  gallantry,  and 
gave  the  country  a new  prominence  among  the  powers 
of  Europe.  It  was  in  consequence  of  the  part  that  she 
bore  in  this  war,  that  Sardinia  was  admitted  to  the  Con- 
gress of  Paris  in  1856,  and  that  she  has  been  brought  into 
such  close  alliance  with  France,  a power  on  which  she 
relies  to  support  her  in  her  next  war  in  Italy.  That  it 
has  not  broken  her  relations  with  Russia,  is  evident  from 
the  fact  that  she  has  just  granted  that  power  the  port 
of  Villafranca,  near  Nice,  which  enables  Russia  to  keep 
a fleet  in  the  Mediterranean.  Thus  fortifying  herself 
with  allies,  she  awaits  the  next  great  struggle.  These 
soldiers  have  probably  a great  destiny  before  them. 
They  bide  their  time.  But  when  there  comes  in  Europe 
the  War  for  Liberty,  their  bayonets  will  gleam  in  the 
thickest  of  the  battle. 

We  stayed  three  days  in  Turin,  and  left  early  on 
Monday  morning  to  cross  the  Alps  on  our  way  to  France. 
A couple  of  hours  brought  us  to  Susa,  the  present  ter- 
minus of  the  railroad,  which  cannot  be  extended  farthei 


278 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


until  the  great  gallery  under  Mont  Cenis  is  completed. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  gigantic  works  yet  undertaken 
by  the  engineering  skill  of  Europe.  It  is  necessary  to 
bore  right  through  the  heart  of  the  mountain — a distance 
of  eight  miles ! This  will  be  the  longest  tunnel  in  the  world. 
'But  it  must  be  many  ye^rs  before  any  traveller  can 
shorten  his  journey  by  passing  through  it.  What  might 
be  done  in  half  an  hour  by  railroad,  took  us  a whole  day 
by  diligence.  The  pass  of  Mont  Cenis,  like  that  of  the 
Simplon,  is  traversed  by  a macadamized  road.  Both 
were  built  by  the  same  imperial  hand,  and  were  designed 
for  the  same  object — to  open  a free  passage  for  Napo- 
leon’s troops  from  France  into  Italy.  This  is  one  of 
the  grandest  highways  in  Europe,  built  in  the  face  of 
tremendous  obstacles,  yet  smooth  as  a floor,  climbing 
along  the  mountain’s  breast,  yet  keeping  its  even  grade 
among  rocks  and  precipices.  But  with  all  this  smooth- 
ing of  difficulties  it  is  a pretty  formidable  operation  to 
scale  the  Mont  Cenis.  To  our  diligence  were  harnessed 
two  horses  and  ten  mules,  yet  with  all  this  cavalcade  it 
took  five  hours  of  steady  pulling  to  bring  us  to  the  top. 

But  for  this  delay  of  time  we  were  amply  compensated 
by  the  views  of  mountain  scenery  which  we  enjoyed. 
Resolved  to  lose  nothing,  we  had  climbed  by  the  help 
of  a ladder  to  the  top  of  the  diligence,  and  thus  perched 
aloft,  we  began  the  ascent.  Up,  up  we  went — above 
the  villages,  above  the  church  spires,  above  the  tops  of 
the  trees,  till  we  came  at  last  to  a region  of  barren  rock, 


CROSSING  MONT  CENIS. 


279 


where  not  even  a stunted  pine  could  live,  where  only- 
moss  and  lichens  clung  quiyering  in  the  wind.  As  wo 
mounted  higher  and  higher,  the  views  down  the  valley 
behind  us  became  more  extended  and  magnificent. 
They  pass  all  description.  They  remain  imprinted  on 
our  memory  among  those  eternal  things  of  nature  which, 
once  seen,  can  never  be  forgotten. 

Nor  were  other  associations  wanting  which  harmo- 
nized with  these  awful  forms,  and  added  to  their  effect 
upon  the  imagination.  As  we  reached  the  summit,  and 
turned  to  take  a last  view  of  Italy,  we  thought  of  the 
armies  that  had  passed  over  these  cold  heights.  Here 
once  stood  the  elephants  of  Hannibal,  while  the  haughty 
African  cast  his  eye  down  the  pass  that  was  to  lead  him 
to  the  gates  of  Rome.  Here  came  the  soldiers  of  Napo- 
leon. I-could  almost  see  their  columns  filing  along  the 
pass,  and  hear  the  echoes  of  their  bugle  horns.  These 
warriors  have  passed  and  left  not  a trace  behind.  Yet 
still  the  mountain  solitudes  stand  silently  armed  for 
war. 

As  the  pass  of  Mont  Cenis  is  the  gateway  of  Italy,  it 
is  strongly  fortified  by  the  Sardinian  government.  We 
found  a garrison  on  the  very  summit.  Thus  excited  at 
once  by  nature  and  history,  we  came  to  the  mountain’s 
verge,  where  we  let  go  our  t£n  donkeys,  and  with 
horses  at  full  gallop,  we  came  rushing  down  into  the 
valleys  of  Savoy. 


280 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Here  at  the  foot  of  the  Alps,  I end  my  traveller’s 
tale.  We  reached  Paris  on  the  second  of  September, 
and  left  on  the  twentieth  for  America.  I add  a single 
chapter,  not  of  travel,  but  of  vindication  of  the  much- 
abused  French  people. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Domestic  Life  in  France. 

“Dreadful  people,  these  French!  They  have  no 
domestic  life.  The  very  word  Home  is  not  to  be  found 
in  their  language.  They  live  in  the  street,  in  the  public 
gardens,  in  the  cafes,  in  the  theatres,  anywhere  but 
under  their  own  roof.”  Such  is  the  opinion  which  you 
will  hear  expressed  by  nine  out  of  ten  of  all  the  Ameri- 
cans who  go  to  Paris.  Even  those  who  are  old  residents 
confess  with  a sigh  that  this  harsh  judgment  is  but  too 
true.  To  be  sure,  the  fluent  censor  is  a little  embar- 
rassed, if  you  ask  abruptly,  “ Pray,  sir,  how  many  French 
families  do  you  happen  to  know?”  But  he  quickly 
recovers  assurance,  and  answers  glibly,  “ Know  ? why 
have  I been  so  many  years  in  Paris,  and  do  I not  know 
people  ?”  He  knows  everybody — that  is,  everybody 
that  is  to  be  seen  in  public.  Perhaps  he  has  received 
his  education  in  Paris.  He  has  been  a student  in  the 
Latin  quarter.  He  is  an  habitue  of  all  the  cafes  on  the 
Boulevards.  He  frequents  all  the  theatres,  and  can  tell 
(at  least  through  his  opera-glass)  the  box  of  every  dis- 
tinguished family.  Xay,  more,  has  he  not  been  ad- 
mitted into  society?  Can  he  not  report  the  talk  of 

291 


282 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


French  salons?  Has  he  not  had  the  entree  at  Alexan- 
der Dumas’  ? Possibly  at  Lamartine’s  and  Guizot’s  ? 
Nay,  more,  swelling  with  Republican  pride,  has  he  not 
been  invited  to  the  balls  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  even 
at  the  Tuileiaes  ? 

After  such  a string  of  triumphant  inquiries,  a modest 
stranger  is  pretty  well  “ shut  up,”  and  remains  silent,  as 
his  informant  follows  up  the  victory;  “No,  no.  I tell 
you,  there  is  no  domestic  life  in  France.  A Frenchman 
lives  only  in  public.  The  fireside,  the  foyer  is  hateful  to 
him.”  It  hardly  occurs  to  this  confident  talker  that  a 
man  may  visit  a country,  and  even  live  in  it,  and  yet, 
after  all,  not  know  much  about  it;  that  he  may  see 
thousands  in  the  streets,  in  the  gardens,  or  the  shops, 
in  business,  or  at  court,  and  yet  see  none  in  the  interior 
of  their  own  dwellings  ; that,  in  fine,  it  is  one  thing  to 
see  people,  and  another  to  see  and  know  family  life. 

A stranger  coming  into  Paris,  sees  only  the  outside  of 
the  French.  The  life  he  sees  is  the  life  of  hotels.  In 
the  shops  he  meets  only  tradespeople  and  grisettes. 
At  court  he  meets  a- class  higher  in  position,  but  often 
no  better  in  morals.  But  neither  of  these  classes  is  the 
best  representative  of  the  finer  qualities  of  the  French 
character.  The  class  most  worthy  of  respect  is  the 
upper  middle  class — the  haute  bourgeoisie — composed  of 
the  wealthier  merchants  and  bankers,  distinguished 
advocates,  learned  professors,  and  literary  men.  This  is 
the  class  which  it  is  most  important  to  know  to  judge 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IN  FRANCE. 


283' 


the  French  fairly,  and  yet  into  which  it  is  most  difficult 
to  penetrate. 

To  what,  then,  amounts  this  boasted  knowledge  of 
French  society?  Travellers  see  the  outside  of  Paris — the 
tinsel  and  gilded  exterior  of  the  French  capital.  But  of 
its  interior  life  they  are  almost  wholly  ignorant.  Hence 
the  opinions  which  they  give,  are  about  as  intelligent  as 
those  of  a Southerner  who  comes  North  in  the  summer 
to  spend  his  money,  and  goes  to  Saratoga,  and  Newport, 
and  Niagara.  In  New  York,  he  stops  at  the  St.  Nicholas 
Hotel,  or  the  Metropolitan,  and  perhaps  finds  himself 
surrounded  by  flash  men  and  fast  women.  He  goes 
back,  swearing  that  New  York  is  the  most  dissolute, 
depraved,  corrupt  city  on  earth,  when  the  poor  fool  has 
not  been  admitted  to  the  intimacy  of  a single  respect- 
able family. 

The  exclusion  of  such  men  from  society  is  far  more 
rigid  in  France  than  in  America,  for  here  the  interior  of 
a family  is  guarded  with  more  sacred  care  than  with  us. 
French  parents  are  quite  shocked  at  the  freedom  with 
which  American  papas  and  mammas  allow  strangers  to 
visit  in  their  families.  They  are  wary  of  those  whom 
they  admit  to  their  households.  They  are  suspicious  of 
foreigners  more  than  of  their  own  countrymen.  And 
with  reason.  For  of  the  one  or  two  hundred  thousand 
strangers  always  in  Paris,  a large  part  have  come  for 
nothing  but  to  enjoy  a life  of  pleasure.  And,  I am 
sorry  to  add,  that  of  all  the  mauvais  snjets  who  infest 


284 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  French  capital,  young  Americans  are  about  the 
worst.  Hence  it  is  not  strange  that  our  countrymen 
find  it  not  so  easy  to  circulate  where  they  will,  and  even 
old  residents  complain  that  it  is  very  hard  to  get  into 
French  society ! 

Ten  years  ago  I spent  six  months  in  Paris.  I saw  the 
monuments  of  the  city,  I saw  also  a revolution,  and 
many  thrilling  events.  But  of  the  domestic  life  of  the 
French  I saw  nothing.  Nor  were  others  better  off. 
At  that  time  I had  a friend  there,  a former  member  of 
Congress,  who  had  spent  a large  part  of  his  life  abroad, 
who  was  in  Paris  when  it  was  occupied  by  the  Allies, 
and  remembered  distinctly  the  morning  that  Marshal 
Key  was  shot.  We  lodged  in  the  same  house,  and  every 
day  walked  and  dined  together.  This  summer,  when  we 
went  to  Paris,  I turned  into  the  old  street  to  see  if, 
perchance,  any  trace  of  him  lingered  about  the  place. 
Lo,  there  he  was  still — in  the  same  hotel,  in  the  same 
room,  dining  every  day  at  the  same  restaurant  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  and  spending  the  evening  at  Galignani’s. 
Here  he  has  been  off  and  on  for  forty  years,  and  yet, 
from  what  I know  of  his  habits,  I will  venture  to  say 
that  he  does  not  know,  with  any  intimacy,  a single 
French  family.  And  yet,  if  you  were  to  ask  him,  he 
would  deliver  a lecture  an  hour  long  on  the  immorality 
of  the  French  capital,  and  would  be  astounded  if  you 
were  to  intimate  that  there  were  portions  of  French 
society  which  he  had  not  seen. 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IN  FRANCE. 


285 


But  the  second  time  that  I visited  Paris,  it  was  with 
one  who  had  been  born  in  that  city,  and  there  passed  all 
her  early  life.  To  come  back  to  Paris  now  was  like 
coming  home.  And  so,  no  sooner  were  we  within  the 
walls,  than  we  began  to  haunt  the  old  familiar  streets. 
What  endless  walks  we  took  along  the  Boulevards, 
looking  up  to  the  fronts  of  the  houses,  half  expecting  to 
see  the  windows  open,  and  some  dear,  familiar  form  step 
out  upon  the  balcony.  So  strong  was  the  impression  of 
these  scenes  revisited,  that  it  was  several  days  before  we 
could  muster  courage  to  ask  if  those  we  knew  were 
living  or  dead!  Many  a time  we  drove  to  a street  of 
which  we  knew  every  stone  in  the  pavement,  and  rang 
with  a trembling  hand,  and  asked  if  the  loved  ones  were 
there  still.  Generally,  if  they  had  not  died,  they  were 
living  in  the  same  house.  The  French  do  not  change 
their  abodes — and  many,  many  we  found  in  the  same 
spot  where  we  had  parted  years  ago — merchants  in  the 
same  counting-houses,  lawyers  giving  counsel  in  the  same 
chambers,  artists  in  the  same  studios.  How  strange  were 
the  memories  which  came  back,  as  we  turned  into  the 
old  courts  and  passages,  and  heard  our  own  footfall  on 
the  accustomed  stair.  Our  friends  included  some  of  all 
professions — lawyers  and  physicians  and  pastors,  artists 
and  architects  and  professors.  Time  had  made  changes 
in  their  positions,  if  not  in  their  habitations.  One 
was  a prosperous  merchant,  another  a distinguished 
painter ; one  had  served  as  an  officer  in  the  Crimean 


286 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


war,  another  had  become  a member  of  the  French 
Academy. 

But  in  all  we  found  the  same  cordial  manner,  the  same 
warm,  true  heart.  It  was  worth  crossing  the  sea  to  wit- 
ness the  first  look  of  surprise,  then  the  joyful  recognition, 
and  the  cordial  greeting.  Of  course  we  cannot  lift  the 
veil  from  scenes  so  sacred.  I will  give  you  but  a glimpse 
of  one  or  two  home-circles,  which  may  show  you  how 
strong  are  the  affections  which  bind  together  a French 
family.  Among  others  whom  we  visited,  was  an  old 
teacher  of  drawing.  We  found  him  and  his  wife  still 
living  in  the  same  spot.  I allude  to  them,  not  to  repeat 
how  affectionate  they  were  to  us,  but  to  note  the  love 
which  existed  among  themselves.  They  had  one  son, 
who  was  a competitor  for  the  National  prize  of  engraving. 
These  prizes  are  offered  by  the  Government,  and  the  suc- 
cessful candidate  is  sent  to  Rome,  for  five  years,  at  the 
public  expense.  But  the  tests  to  which  they  are  sub- 
jected are  the  most  rigid  and  severe.  The  competitors 
are  shut  up  in  the  Louvre  for  three  months,  unable  to  go 
out  or  to  see  their  friends.  This  young  man  was  not 
permitted  even  to  see  his  mother.  When  we  were  first 
in  Paris,  in  June,  he  was  undergoing  this  honorable 
imprisonment.  And  when  we  returned  in  September, 
he  had  not  yet  been  released.  While  this  trial  was 
going  on,  it  was  even  painful  to  see  the  anxiety  of  the 
parents.  This  boy  was  their  darling  and  their  pride. 
His  mother  could  hardly  speak  of  him  without  tears — a 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IN  FRANCE. 


287 


touching  rebuke,  it  seemed  to  us,  to  those  mockers  who 
say  that  there  is  no  family  affection  in  France.  It  wras 
a relief  to  us  when  we  saw,  a few  days  after,  that  the 
concours  was  at  last  concluded.  Partly  owing  to  his 
age,  for  he  was  the  youngest  of  all  the  competitors,  the 
first  prize  had  been  awarded  to  another,  but  his  name 
received  honorable  mention.  He  will  enter  the  lists 
another  year,  and  no  doubt  will  be  successful. 

But  a few  days  before  we  left  Pans,  we  went  to  seek 
a very  old  friend  of  Mrs.  F.,  even  from  her  school-days, 
a wealthy  merchant  in  whose  kind  home  she  had  passed 
many  a happy  day  in  her  girlhood,  when  she  had  a vaca- 
tion from  her  boarding-school.  We  could  not  leave 
without  seeing  him.  But  was  he  still  living  ? We  had 
not  heard  from  him  for  years.  It  was,  therefore,  with  a 
mixture  of  hope  and  fear  that  we  drove  to  the  street, 
and  stopped  before  the  gate  of  the  court.  True  enough, 
the  name  was  still  there.  But  this  is  often  retained, 
even  when  the  head  of  the  house  is  gone.  I ascended 
to  the  counting-room,  and  asked  for  Mr.  T . In- 

stantly a gentleman,  with  a kind,  open  countenance, 
came  forward  to  meet  me.  I asked  if  he  knew  Madamt 
F.,  of  Hew  York.  His  face  brightened  at  the  name,  a? 
if  he  were  about  to  hear  tidings  of  his  own  daughter, 
and  when  I added  that  she  was  in  Paris,  and  in  the  car- 
riage at  his  door,  he  rushed  down  to  meet  her,  with 
arms  wide  open,  as  if  to  embrace  a long  absent  child. 
“How  come  right  into  my  office,  and  tell  me  all  about 


288 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


you.”  Swiftly  we  went  over  the  years  that  had  passed. 
At  length  wre  rose  to  go.  “ Now,”  said  he,  “ Tuesday 
you  come  to  dine  with  us.  We  are  spending  the  sum- 
mer in  the  country,  near  St.  Cloud.  I shall  write  at 

once  to  your  old  friend,  Mademoiselle , telling  her 

that  a very  dear  friend  of  hers  has  just  arrived  from 
America,  and  wishes  to  meet  her.”  The  appointment 
was  at  once  concluded,  and  the  day  found  us  at  the 
place.  It  was  a charming  country  box — just  like  an 
English  cottage,  surrounded  with  trees,  with  a lawn  in 
front.  The  family  were  sitting  on  the  piazza,  and  our 
entrance  was  a signal  for  a general  salutation.  An  hour 
later,  the  father,  with  his  son,  his  partner  in  business, 
returned  from  the  city,  and  the  circle  wtis  complete. 
The  mother  of  the  family  was  absent,  having  gone  to 
the  Pyrenees  for  the  health  of  a daughter.  But  beside 
the  father  was  a maiden  sister — the  kind  aunt  wrho,  in  so 
many  French  families,  performs  the  part  of  a second 
mother,  and  the  former  teacher  and  beloved  friend,  and 
the  son  with  his  newdy-married  bride,  so  simply  and 
modestly  dressed  that  it  quite  made  me  ashamed  -when  I 
thought  howr  American  brides  are  flounced  and  feathered. 
We  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the  merriest  mood.  What 
charming  gaiety  wras  there,  what  cordial  manners,  what 
hearty  kindness,  what  true  domestic  affection  and  happi- 
ness! Those  wrere  golden  hours.  Here,  then,  I ex- 
claimed, is  the  proof  that  there  is  no  domestic  life  in 
France  ! All  I can  ask  for  my  countrymen  is,  that  their 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IN  FRANCE. 


289 


hills  and  valleys  may  be  dotted  all  over  with  spots  as 
bright  and  green. 

This  is  not  an  isolated  case.  It  is  but  a fair  specimen 
of  what  may  be  found  everywhere  in  France,  in  this 
upper  middle  class.  The  same  tender  affection,  the  same 
devotedness  to  each  other,  the  same  constancy  and  truth, 
are  the  light  of  ten  thousand  happy  homes. 

It  is  rather  hard  that  the  French  should  be  accused  of 
want  of  heart,  for  the  very  reason  that  they  have  so 
much  politeness  of  manner.  Because  they  show  more  than 
others,  they  are  thought  to  feel  less.  As  if  a churlish 
exterior  were  the  only  proof  of  sturdy  integrity.  Or  as 
if  a man  could  not  be  gentle  in  word  and  true  in  heart. 

I observed  here — wdiat  I have  remarked  in  many  other 
cases — that  in  a French  family  there  is  a much  closer 
sympathy  of  parents  with  children  than  with  us.  They 
give  up  more  of  their  time  to  amuse  and  instruct  them. 
In  America  a man  of  business  works  so  hard,  and  comes 
home  so  jaded,  that  he  has  no  spirit  for  anything  but  to 
read  his  paper,  smoke  his  cigar,  and  roll  into  bed.  A 
French  father  makes  a better  economy  of  life.  He 
works  hard,  too,  during  the  day,  but  not  to  the  point  of 
utter  exhaustion.  He  keeps  a little  strength  for  his 
home.  And  wdien  he  enters  that  enchanted  circle,  and 
shuts  the  door,  he  shuts  the  world  behind  him.  Then, 
begone,  dull  care ! Then  the  children  have  full  liberty 
to  romp  and  climb  upon  the  father’s  knee,  and  gaiety 

and  cheerful  enjoyment  rule  the  hour. 

13 


290 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Our  last  night  in  France  was  spent  in  Havre.  We 
had  come  down  from  Paris,  to  embark  on  the  Arago, 
the  next  morning.  Mr.  Henri  Monod,  a wealthy  mer- 
chant of  Havre,  one  of  the  family  so  well  known  among 
the  Protestants  of  France — a brother  of  Frederic  and 
Adolphe  Monod — had  written  to  Paris  to  insure  bur 
company  on  that  last  evening.  His  residence  is  on  the 
heights  of  Ingouville,  which  overlook  the  harbor.  As 
we  climbed  the  steep  ascent,  the  sun  was  setting  in  the 
Atlantic,  and  at  our  feet  lay  the  city,  and  the  port 
crowded  with  shipping,  from  which  floated  the  flags  of 
all  nations.  Here  again  we  met  the  same  warm  greet- 
ing which  had  welcomed  us  everywhere.  We  found 
ourselves  in  the  home  of  wealth  and  refinement,  of  affec- 
tion and  piety,  and  we  saw  how  lovely  is  the  type  of 
character,  when  to  the  charm  and  natural  grace  of 
French  manners  is  added  the  solid  strength  of  Christian 
principle.  The  same  friends  were  on  board  the  steamer 
at  an  early  hour  the  next  morning,  and  followed  her 
along  the  quay,  past  the  old  tower  of  Francis  the  First, 
which  guards  the  entrance  to  the  port,  to  the  end  of  the 
Mole,  from  which  they  waved  their  last  farewell.  It 
was  pleasant  thus  to  bid  adieu  for  the  second  time  to  a 
land  dearer  to  us  than  any  other,  except  our  own 
America.  Those  faint,  fluttering  signals,  which  we 
watched  till  they  disappeared  in  the  distance,  seemed 
like  white  flags  of  peace  waved  by  gentle  hands  from 
the  Old  World  to  the  Hew.  To  us  they  were  emblems 


DOMESTIC  LIFE  IX  FRANCE. 


291 


of  that  sincerity  and  true  affection  which  we  had  expe- 
rienced for  the  past  few  months — tokens  of  a love  which 
had  not  changed  by  distance  of  space  or  lapse  of  time — 
and  which  we  are  sure  will  greet  us  again,  if  we  are  ever 
permitted  to  return  to  those  beloved  and  happy  shores. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


gttiiittj  to  t^c  WrlJ  33&ttfon. 

A Bird’s-eye  View  of  the  late  War  in  Italy— Causes  which  led 
to  it — France  joins  Sardinia — Troops  hurried  oyer  the  Alps — 
First  Engagement  at  Montebello — The  Allies  pass  the  Ticino — 
Battle  of  Magenta — The  Austrians  evacuate  Milan — Battle  of 
Solferino — The  Armistice  and  Peace — Lombardy  Annexed  to 
Sardinia — Is  followed  by  Tuscany,  Parma,  Modena  and  the 
Romagna — Present  condition  of  Venice  and  Naples — What 
Italy  has  gained  by  the  War. 

When  the  preceding  pages  were  written,  no  one  could 
have  believed  that  the  hopes  there  expressed  vrere  so 
near  fulfilment.  But  the  year  that  followed  proved  one 
of  the  most  eventful  in  Italian  history.  A few  short 
months  after  we  wrere  riding  across  the  plains  of  Lom- 
bardy, then  smiling  in  all  the  beauty  of  summer,  those 
plains  were  trodden  by  hostile  armies,  and  the  fate  of 
Italy  wTas  decided  in  one  brief  and  glorious  campaign. 
It  will  not  take  long  to  tell  the  short  and  eventful  story 
The  position  of  Austria  in  Italy  had  long  been  meddle- 
some and  overbearing — not  only  in  Venice  and  Lom- 
bardy, where  her  flag  waved,  but  in  Parma  and  Modena, 
and  in  Tuscany ; at  Florence,  at  Rome  and  Naples,  her 

292 


POSITION  OF  AUSTRIA  IN  ITALY. 


293 


power  was  supreme.  The  Grand  Dukes  were  merely 
satraps  of  Austria,  for  they  had  bound  themselves  by 
secret  treaties  not  to  give  constitutions  to  their  states 
without  her  consent.  This  had  been  a constant  source 
of  irritation,  not  only  to  the  people,  who  were  thus 
bound  hand  and  foot,  and  delivered  to  a foreign  master, 
but  to  Sardinia,  wThich  saw  with  alarm  a powerful  enemy 
on  her  frontiers,  in  command  of  a position  from  which  at 
any  time  it  might  attack  her  territory,  and  even  menace 
her  independence.  Nor  was  it  much  less  offensive  to 
the  pride  of  France,  which  saw  a great  German  empire 
advanced  close  to  her  own  frontiers,  with  only  Piedmont 
and  the  Alps  between ; and  which  beheld  with  ill-con- 
cealed dissatisfaction  the  complete  ascendency  of  Austria 
in  a country  where  France  had  long  disputed  her  power. 
Northern  Italy  had  been  the  theatre  of  the  first  Napo- 
leon’s campaigns,  and  it  was  not  a pleasant  spectacle  to 
the  heir  of  his  name  and  throne,  to  see  France  now  ex- 
cluded from  every  inch  of  the  Peninsula,  except  that  she 
was  permitted  the  poor  satisfaction  of  keeping  guard  over 
the  feeble  old  Pope  ! For  a long  time  she  tried  diplo- 
macy as  a counterpoise  to  the  power  of  her  rival,  and 
used  all  gentle  arguments  to  persuade  Austria  to  press 
more  lightly  on  unhappy  Italy.  But  in  vain.  Strong  in 
her  military  position,  with  a large  army  in  the  country, 
the  latter  received  these  suggestions  with  coolness,  and 
while  she  answered  with  soft  words,  took  good  care  to 
do  nothing. 


294 


SUMMER  riCTURES. 


In  the  autumn  of  1858  the  alliance  of  France  with 
Sardinia  was  closely  cemented  by  a marriage  of  one  of 
the  Imperial  family  with  one  of  the  house  of  Savoy — that 
of  Jerome  Napoleon,  the  cousin  of  the  Emperor,  with 
Clothilde,  the  daughter  of  Victor  Emanuel.  The  royal 
bride  was  a young  girl  of  sixteen,  and  her  marriage  to  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  her  father  seemed  like  a cruel 
sacrifice,  except  to  those  ardent  patriots  who  saw  in  it 
only  the  type  of  a political  alliance,  which  was  to  have 
the  most  important  results  for  Italy. 

Thus  having  a family  right  to  interfere  in  Italian 
affairs,  the  French  Emperor  renewed  his  protests  against 
the  systematic  absolutism  of  Austria.  But  this  signified 
little,  while  protestation  was  confined  to  notes  and 
dispatches.  Differences  may  arise  in  the  best  of  families, 
without  breaking  out  into  open  quarrel,  and  irritations 
may  exist  between  cabinets,  which  no  one  imagines  to 
portend  a serious  collision. 

The  first  signal  to  Europe  of  what  was  coming,  was 
given  on  the  first  of  January,  1859.  It  is  the  custom  in 
Paris  on  New  Year’s  Day,  for  the  representatives  of 
foreign  powers  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  head  of  the 
nation.  It  is  one  of  the  sights  of  strangers  to  witness  the 
liveried  equipages  rolling  into  the  courtyard  of  the 
Tuilcries.  On  this  day  the  foreign  ministers  came  as 
usual,  and  presented  their  salutations,  to  each  of  whom 
the  Emperor  returned  a gracious  reply.  But  when  he 
came  to  the  Austrian  ambassador,  Baron  Hubner,  he 


OMEXS  OF  THE  WAR. 


295 


added  with  a slight  emphasis : u Although  I regret  that 
the  relations  of  our  governments  are  not  as  cordial  as 
usual,  tell  the  Emperor  that  my  personal  feelings  toward 
him  are  not  changed.”  It  was  a simple  remark.  Yet 
the  effect  was  electric — as  when  at  sea  the  barometer 
begins  to  fell  rapidly,  portending  a sudden  storm,  though 
there  is  not  yet  a cloud  on  the  horizon.  The  funds  fell 
on  every  exchange,  in  Europe,  occasioning  to  the  holders 
a loss  of  hundreds  of  millions.  Such  was  the  power  of  a 
word. 

A few  weeks  passed,  and  the  panic  began  to  abate. 
The  Emperor,  in  his  official  journal,  the  u Moniteur,”  as- 
sured the  public  that  there  was  no  occasion  for  alarm,  and 
soon  many  were  led  to  feel  that  they  had  been  frightened 
without  reason,  and  to  laugh  at  their  fears.  But  others 
saw  clearly  that  the  causes  of  difficulty  were  not  re- 
moved. In  Italy  the  people  were  in  a ferment.  Volun- 
teers from  all  the  Italian  States  flocked  to  Piedmont, 
eager  to  join  in  the  Holy  War  of  Liberty.  They  were 
enrolled  in  a free  corps  under  Garibaldi,  with  a name 
which  they  soon  made  illustrious,  of  the  Hunters  of 
the  Alps. 

At  this  moment  all  Italy  was  ripe  for  revolt.  In  Tus- 
cany, as  soon  as  war  became  imminent,  the  officers  of  the 
army  presented  themselves  to  the  Grand  Duke,  declaring 
that  the  only  way  to  prevent  a revolution,  was  to  unite 
with  Piedmont.  The  Duke  refused,  and  finding  the 
sceptre  falling  from  his  hands,  fled  from  Florence  to  find 


296 


SUMMER.  PICTURES. 


shelter  in  the  Austrian  camp,  not  doubting  that  Austrian 
troops  would  soon  bring  him  back  again,  stronger  and 
more  absolute  than  ever.  Parma  and  Modena  followed 
the  example  of  Tuscany.  In  all  there  was  a revolution 
without  violence  or  the  shedding  of  a drop  of  blood. 

Across  the  frontier  of  Piedmont,  at  Milan  and  at 
Vienna,  this  mustering  of  forces  was  interpreted  as  a 
threat,  and  imperious  demands  were  addressed  to  the 
court  of  Turin  to  desist  from  these  suspicious  movements. 
But  still,  despite  remonstrance,  the  sons  of  Italy  rallied 
around  their  leader.  And  now  Francis  Joseph  took  a 
haughtier  tone.  For  weeks  his  troops  had  been  pouring 
over  the  passes  of  the  Tyrol,  till  he  had  in  Lombardy  an 
army  of  200,000  men  within  a few  hours’  march  of  the 
Sardinian  frontier.  With  such  an  array  he  felt  strong 
enough  to  dare  anything.  Believing  that  it  would  over- 
awe resistance,  he  sent  to  the  King  of  Sardinia  a last 
summons,  instantly  to  disband  the  volunteers  from  other 
states,  and  to  place  his  army  on  a peace  footing,  under 
penalty  of  war.  But  three  days’  grace  was  given  to  com- 
ply with  this  peremptory  demand. 

Victor  Emanuel  heard  the  summons,  but  it  stirred 
another  feeling  than  that  of  fear.  A soldier  by  profes- 
sion, bold  and  warlike,  he  had  fought  by  his  father’s  side 
in  1849,  and  received  from  him  the  crown  on  the  fatal 
field  of  Novara,  and  he  had  old  wrongs  to  avenge.  He 
heard  with  stern  delight  the  call  to  arms.  It  was  the 
hour  for  which  he  had  waited  for  ten  long  years.  The 


SLOW  MOVEMENTS  OF  THE  AUSTRIANS. 


297 


insolent  demand  was  liurled  back  with  defiance ; the 
drum-beat  was  heard  throughout  the  kingdom,  mustering 
to  arms,  while  the  king  signalled  to  his  powerful  ally  in 
Paris  that  the  hour  had  come  ! 

The  moment  was  critical,  and  the  position  perilous  in 
the  extreme,  and  had  the  Austrians  acted  with  prompt- 
ness and  energy,  the  result  of  the  campaign  might  have 
been  very  different.  They  had  every  advantage,  an 
immense  army  in  the  field,  and  a position  near  the  thea- 
tre of  war,  and  by  rapid  movements  they  might  have 
overrun  Piedmont,  before  the  French  troops  could  reach 
the  scene  of  action.  The  summons  was  sent  on  the  23d 
of  April,  and  the  time  of  grace  expired  on  the  26th. 
Had  the  Austrians,  who  were  already  massed  along  the 
frontier,  now  invaded  Piedmont  with  the  same  prompt- 
ness as  did  Radetsky  in  1849,  they  might  have  marched 
to  Turin,  made  themselves  masters  of  the  capital  and 
then  have  pressed  on  to  the  foot  of  Mont  Cenis,  and 
there  held  in  check  the  French  advancing  over  the  Alps. 

But  in  this  memorable  campaign  it  seemed  as  if  the 
stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  the  Austrians.  A 
fatal  blindness  seized  their  leaders ; though  they  had 
admirable  troops,  they  were  so  badly  commanded  that 
every  advantage  was  lost.  Radetzky  was  dead,  and  he 
had  left  no  successor.  The  best  officer  in  the  army  was 
probably  Baron  Hess.  He  had  been  the  main  reliance 
of  Radetzky  ten  years  before.  He  knew  every  inch  of 
the  ground,  having  fought  it  over  in  1849.  A brave,  yet 

13* 


298 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


cautious  commander,  he  offered  a plan  of  campaign, 
which  was  eminently  a prudent  one,  and  which  might 
have  been  successful.  But  it  was  not  dashing  enough 
for  the  young  Austrian  Emperor,  who,  it  is  said,  snubbed 
the  old  field-marshal  in  the  most  unceremonious  manner, 
telling  him  that  he  was  behind  the  age!  Ruled  by 
court  favorites,  Francis  Joseph  preferred  Count  Gyulai. 
Bitterly  was  he  to  repent  his  rash  and  misplaced  con- 
fidence. 

This  new  martinet,  placed  at  the  head  of  a great  army, 
issued  boastful  proclamations,  but  did  nothing.  When 
hours  were  all-important  he  wasted  days,  so  that  it  was 
the  29th  of  April  instead  of  the  26th — full  three  days  too 
late — before  he  began  to  cross  the  Ticino,  and  then  it 
took  him  three  days  to  get  over  a hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  men.  Thus  a whole  week  was  lost.  Radetzky, 
in  1849,  by  his  rapid  and  decisive  movements,  began  and 
ended  the  campaign  in  five  days.  But  Gyulai,  even  after 
he  had  entered  Piedmont,  moved  hesitatingly  as  if  he 
had  no  fixed  plan.  Instead  of  marching  straight  on  the 
capital,  he  advanced  but  a few  miles  into  the  country, 
and  then  spread  out  his  army  over  a fertile  province,  as 
if  more  anxious  to  find  supplies  for  his  troops,  than  to 
strike  a blow  which  might  end  the  war. 

This  breathing-time  given  to  the  allies  was  well  im- 
proved. No  sooner  had  the  final  summons  been  sent  to 
Turin,  and  telegraphed  to  Paris,  than  the  French  troops, 
which  had  been  concentrated  near  the  Alps,  received 


THE  WAR  POPULAR  IN  FRANCE. 


290 


orders  to  march.  The  Mont  Cenis  was  not  yet  bare  of 
the  winter’s  snow,  but  an  army  of  laborers  was  sent 
forward  to  clear  away  the  drifts,  and  swiftly  on  their  steps 
the  plumes  of  the  Imperial  Guards  came  waving  up  the 
pass.  F urther  to  the  south  the  long  red  lines  of  infantry 
swept  round  the  spurs  of  the  Maritime  Alps,  along  the 
shore  of  the  Mediterranean,  between  the  mountains  and 
the  sea ; while  off  in  the  distance  the  waters  were  black 
with  steamers  from  Marseilles  and  Toulon,  laden  with 
troops,  horses  and  guns,  and  all  the  munitions  of  war. 

If  there  had  been  a doubt  as  to  the  popularity  of  the 
war  in  France,  it  was  dispelled  by  the  manifestations  in 
Paris  on  the  departure  of  the  troops.  As  the  Zouaves 
and  Chasseurs,  both  favorite  corps,  filed  along  the 
streets,  an  excited  population  thronged  their  path, 
and  burst  forth  into  a spontaneous  shout  of  enthusiasm. 
The  heart  of  the  nation  beat  in  sympathy  with  the 
attempt  to  give  freedom  to  Italy.  The  popular  feeling 
rose  still  higher  when  a few  days  later  the  Emperor  left 
to  join  the  army.  It  was  the  10th  of  May.  He  was  to 
leave  at  5 o’clock  in  the  afternoon.  At  that  hour  the 
Rue  Rivoli  from  the  Palace  to  the  Embarcad&re  w^as 
blocked  with  a dense  mass  of  people,  cheering  for  Italy. 
Probably  in  no  act  of  his  reign  had  Napoleon  so  clearly 
divined  the  national  will.  Never  was  he  so  enthroned 
in  the  hearts  of  his  people  as  at  that  moment.  But  he 
had  no  time  for  mere  demonstrations.  Travelling  all 
night  he  reached  Marseilles  the  next  day,  and  im- 


300 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


mediately  embarked  for  Genoa,  where  he  landed  on  the 
12th.  Here  the  popular  excitement  was  unbounded. 
Genoa  the  Proud  never  saw  such  a sight,  at  least  in 
modern  times.  The  broad-armed  bay  was  crowded  with 
ships,  all  streaming  with  banners,  and  at  night  the  city 
rising  upward  to  the  hills  was  one  blaze  of  illumination, 
as  a grateful  people  welcomed  their  deliverer. 

But  now  the  period  of  acclamations  was  over,  and  it 
was  time  to  attend  to  the  business  of  the  campaign. 
The  allies  had  a hard  work  before  them.  The  Aus- 
trians were  in  possession,  and  it  would  require  skilful 
manoeuvering  and  hard  fighting  to  drive  them  out. 
Napoleon  moved  forward  to  the  fortress  of  Allessandria, 
where  he  could  hold  counsel  with  Victor  Emanuel,  and 
mature  a plan  of  operations.  That  plan  at  first  seemed 
masked,  but  it  was  soon  developed  by  events. 

The  first  point  where  the  two  armies  came  in  collision 
was  on  the  famous  field  of  Montebello,  where,  in  1800, 
the  Austrians  were  defeated  by  Marshal  Lannes,  after 
one  of  the  most  desperate  conflicts  in  the  wars  of  the  first 
Napoleon.  Here,  on  the  20th  of  May,  these  hereditary 
enemies  met  again.  This  battle  is  memorable  as  having 
been  decided  by  the  rapidity  with  which  the  railroad 
enabled  the  French  to  bring  fresh  troops  into  action. 
The  Austrians,  20,000  strong,  began  the  attack  on  an 
advanced  post  of  the  allies,  which  in  the  first  onset  they 
overpowered  by  their  superior  numbers.  But  quickly 
the  telegraph  flashed  the  news  to  the  head-quarters, 


BATTLE  OF  MAGENTA. 


301 


twenty  miles  in  the  rear,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  railway 
trains  came  thundering  forward,  laden  with  troops, 
which  were  launched  upon  the  field,  and  soon  changed 
the  fortune  of  the  day.  The  Austrians  were  driven 
back  with  great  slaughter.  Thus  the  battle  may  be  said 
to  have  been  decided  by  steam.  A new  element  was 
introduced  into  the  art  of  war.  In  this  engagement 
Victor  Emanuel  fought  in  person  with  great  bravery. 

The  plan  of  the  campaign  now  developed  on  a larger  . 
scale.  To  enter  Lombardy  it  was  necessary  for  the  allies 
to  cross  the  Ticino.  It  was  a maxim  of  the  first 
Napoleon,  that  to  pass  a great  river  in  the  presence  of  an 
enemy  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  operations  in  the  art 
of  war.  Gyulai  appears  to  have  expected  the  French  to 
attempt  the  passage  near  Pavia,  and  had  strengthened 
himself  in  that  direction.  This  impression  was  kept  up 
by  the  allies  throwing  out  advance  parties  and  making 
feints  of  attack.  Thus  the  Austrian  commander  was 
deceived.  Meanwhile  Napoleon,  who  really  aimed  at 
another  mark  higher  up  the  river,  began  to  move  with 
great  rapidity  up  the  right  bank.  As  soon  as  this  move- 
ment was  discovered  the  Austrians  followed  to  prevent 
the  passage,  and  thus  was  presented  the  spectacle  of  two 
great  armies  rushing  up  the  opposite  banks  of  a river  to 
reach  the  same  point.  The  French,  as  usual,  were 
quicker  in  movement,  and  first  at  the  point  of  pas- 
sage. 

Here  appeared  another  blunder  of  the  Austrians.  At 


302 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Bufialora  the  Ticino  is  spanned  by  a magnificent  bridge, 
fit  for  the  passage  of  a great  army.  When  the  Austrians 
withdrew  from  Piedmont  they  tried  to  blow  it  up,  but 
found  themselves  short  of  blasting  powder,  and  so  left  the 
work  half  done.  A few  explosions  destroyed  one  or  two 
arches,  but  the  gaps  tv  ere  easily  covered  by  planks,  and 
here,  on  the  4th  day  of  June,  the  Zouaves  and  Grena- 
diers crossed  under  the  eye  of  Napoleon  in  ]5erson. 

But  it  was  not  without  a terrible  baptism  of  blood 
that  the  allies  made  their  entrance  into  Lombardy. 
Seeing  the  danger  of  allowing  them  to  pass  this  river, 
the  Austrians  mustered  in  force  to  repel  the  advance,  and 
the  French  columns,  as  they  debouched  at  Magenta, 
were  received  with  the  deadly  fire  of  Tyrolese  marksmen, 
which  swept  away  rank  after  rank.  Napoleon,  from  a 
tower  which  overlooked  the  field,  watched  with  anguish 
the  murderous  sacrifice.  The  forces  were  very  unequal. 
His  reserves  wrere  far  behind,  and  were  delayed  in 
coming  up.  McMahon,  who  had  been  sent  still  higher 
up  the  river,  had  crossed  at  Turbigo,  but  he  had  twelve 
miles  to  march  to  reach  the  field,  and  in  that  time  all 
might  be  lost.  He  pressed  on  with  energy,  but  difficult 
roads  and  an  enemy  in  front  delayed  his  progress,  and  it 
was  not  until  the  afternoon  that  his  cannon  were  heard 
on  the  field.  At  that  sound  the  gloom  lifted  from  the 
Emperor’s  countenance.  This  fresh  division  rushing 
into  battle  with  irresistible  ardor  turned  the  fortune  of 
the  day,  and  it  was  but  tlie  just  reward  of  a service  at 


CAREER  OF  GARIBALDI. 


303 


'Buch  a critical  hour  that  McMahon  was  named  on  the 
spot  Marshal  of  the  Empire  and  Duke  of  Magenta. 

While  these  great  events  were  passing  between  the 
two  main  armies,  further  to  the  north  Garibaldi  was 
pursuing  a marvellous  career.  Finding  it  difficult  to 
restrain  his  impatience  to  follow  the  operations  of  a reg- 
ular army,  and  feeling  that  he  was  fitted  for  a different 
kind  of  Tvarfare,  he  asked  leave  of  the  King  of  Sardinia 
to  pursue  an  independent  line  of  action.  Victor  Emanuel 
had  faith  in  his  military  genius,  and  left  him  free  to 
make  war  according  to  his  own  inspiration.  Thus  let 
loose,  this  daring  chieftain  led  his  Hunters  of  the  Alps  by 
rapid  marches  to  the  north,  into  that  hill  country  lying 
between  Lake  Maggiore  and  Lake  Como,  over  which 
we  had  passed  a few  months  before,  and  by  a succession 
of  impetuous  attacks  swept  the  enemy  from  post  to  post, 
till  they  were  driven  out  of  the  lake  district,  and  he  had 
seized  the  passes  of  the  Alps.  This  series  of  exploits, 
beside  being  the  most  brilliant  episode  of  the  war,  was 
important  to  the  success  of  the  whole  campaign,  as  it 
prevented  Austrian  reinforcements  from  descending  the 
passes  of  the  Tyrol,  and  thus  guarded  the  flank  of  the 
main  army  advancing  into  Lombardy. 

The  battle  of  Magenta  decided  the  fate  of  Milan. 
When  Gyulai  saw  that  the  field  was  lost,  he  knew  that 
it  was  vain  to  attempt  to  hold  the  capital  against  a vic- 
torious army  without,  and  an  insurgent  population 
within,  and  the  very  next  day  he  ordered  a retreat. 


304 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Scarcely  had  the  Austrians  filed  out  of  the  city  gates  oil 
one  side,  before  the  allies  marched  in  on  the  other.  On 
the  8th  of  June  the  two  sovereigns  entered  in  triumph, 
amid  a scene  of  rejoicing  seldom  witnessed.  As  they  rode 
through  the  streets,  the  wrhole  population  hailed  with 
acclamations  the  presence  of  their  deliverers.  Napoleon 
might  be  pardoned  if  his  bosom  swelled  with  pride  at 
that  moment.  It  was  not  yet  one  month  since  he  had  left 
Paris,  and  already  he  was  in  the  capital  of  Lombardy, 
receiving  the  homage  and  gratitude  of  a liberated  people. 

But  the  war  was  not  yet  over.  True,  the  Austrians 
had  abandoned  Milan,  but  so  did  Radetzky  in  1848. 
And  yet  in  a few  months  he  marched  back  again.  So  it 
might  be  again.  Indeed  it  seemed  as  if  now,  learning 
wisdom  by  defeat,  the  Austrians  had  fallen  back  on  the 
old  tactics  of  Radetzky,  to  retreat  through  Lombardy, 
until  they  could  make  a stand  under  the  walls  of  the 
F our  F ortresses,  described  in  a preceding  chapter.  I make 
no  pretence  to  a knowledge  of  military  affairs,  because 
in  those  pages,  written  long  before  these  events  trans- 
pired, I predicted  this  movement  ii*  case  of  another  war 
in  Italy.*  It  is  what  would  occur  to  any  one,  after  study- 
ing this  strong  military  position.  To  this  refuge  of  safety 
the  Austrians  now  turned,  blowing  up  behind  them  Pavia 
and  Piacenza,  both  of  which  they  had  strongly  fortified, 
and  withdrawing  their  whole  army,  though  slowly  and 
in  good  order,  within  the  famous  Quadrilateral. 

* See  pages  257-8. 


THE  AUSTRIANS  TURN  TO  BAY. 


305 


Had  this  cautious  policy  been  rigidly  followed,  it  might 
have  proved  as  successful  as  in  the  case  of  Radetzky. 
Had  the  Austrians  shut  themselves  up  within  the  walls 
of  Mantua  and  Verona,  and  resisting  all  temptations  to 
make  a brilliant  attack,  only  stood  on  the  defence,  they 
might  haw*  conquered  simply  by  a dogged  resistance. 
No  people  have  more  tenacity  in  holding  out,  and  thus 
in  a few  weeks  or  months  they  might  have  wearied  out 
the  foe,  or  at  least  held  him  at  bay  until  the  hot  summer 
brought  sickness  into  his  camp,  or  until  the  other  Ger- 
man states,  impatient  of  being  longer  silent  spectators 
of  the  conflict,  came  to  their  help.  Cut  this  was  too 
slow  and  cautious  a policy  to  suit  the  fiery  temper  of 
Francis  Joseph,  who  had  now  entered  the  camp,  and 
assumed  the  command.  His  pride  was  touched  at  seeing 
a retreat ; he  felt  that  his  army  had  retired  far  enough 
and  that  it  was  time  to  assume  a bolder  attitude.  A 
fatal  star  lured  him  on  to  battle.  Again  all  was  cast  on 
the  hazard,  and  again  all  was  lost. 

The  Austrian  army  had  retired  behind  the  Mincio, 
and  was  safely  inclosed  within  the  lines  of  the  Quadri- 
lateral, when  suddenly  the  order  was  issued  to  turn 
on  its  steps,  to  abandon  its  defences,  and  confront  the  foe. 
It  was  the  23d  of  June  that  this  great  movement  be- 
gan. The  allies  were  two  days  in  the  rear.  By  a sud- 
den countermarch  the  Austrians  expected  to  surprise 
them  the  next  day  in  a plain  which  would  furnish  an 
admirable  field  for  the  action  both  of  artillery  and 


306 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


cavalry,  the  two  strong  arms  of  the  Austrian  ser- 
vice. 

But  here  again  they  made  a slight,  but  fatal  miscalcu- 
lation. They  were  wont,  like  honest  folk,  to  keep 
regular  hours,  to  sleep  all  night  as  if  at  home,  and  to  get 
up  at  a proper  time  in  the  morning.  But  the  French 
soldiers,  lively  little  fellows  (they  are  all  small  men  ex- 
cept the  grenadiers  and  a few  picked  corps)  started  to 
march  at  two  o’clock,  and  therefore  came  face  to  face 
with  the  enemy  half  a day  sooner  than  they  were  ex- 
pected— in  fact,  before  the  honest  Germans  had  taken 
their  breakfasts,  so  that  they  were  obliged  to  fight  all 
day  on  empty  stomachs  ! 

It  was  hardly  daybreak  when  the  advanced  guard 
came  upon  the  Austrian  outposts,  and  a heavy  firing 
announced  to  Napoleon  that  an  engagement  had  begun. 
Galloping  forward  to  a hill  which  commanded  an  ex- 
tended view,  he  saw  spread  before  him  a sight  magni- 
ficent and  yet  awful  beyond  description — the  whole 
Austrian  army,  200,000  men,  stretching  for  miles  away 
in  every  directipn,  over  hill  and  valley  and  plain — all  in 
battle  array.  Instantly  orders  were  dispatched  to  every 
corps  to  advance  and  the  great  conflict  began. 

The  field  of  battle  covered  a space  of  twelve  miles, 
from  Peschiera  on  the  left  to  the  plains  on  the  right 
toward  Mantua.  In  the  plain  the  attack  was  led  by 
Marshals  Niel  and  McMahon.  The  Austrians  fought 
bravely.  But  the  French  had  an  immense  advantage  iu 


BATTLE  OF  SOLFERINO. 


307 


their  new  rifled  cannon,  which  were  now  for  the  first 
time  introduced  in  war.  The  Austrian  artillery  had 
been  deemed  the  best  in  Europe.  And  if  the  two  armies 
had  stood  at  point  blank,  as  on  the  field  of  Marengo,  its 
fire  might  have  decided  the  fate  of  the  day.  But  the 
French  guns  told  at  three  times  the  distance,  so  that  the 
Austrian  artillery  could  hardly  come  within  range.  In 
one  instance  a large  mass  of  cavalry  were  descried  on 
the  slope  of  a hill  nearly  two  miles  distant,  preparing  for 
a charge.  But  a few  of  these  long  shots  tore  through 
their  ranks  and  they  were  obliged  to  disperse.  Thus  the 
battle  raged  from  morning  till  noon.  Every  inch  of 
ground  was  sternly  contested,  but  as  the  smoke  lifted 
from  the  field,  the  French  line  was  seen  steadily  ad- 
vancing. 

At  length  the  plain  was  cleared,  and  the  wave  of  bat- 
tle rolled  upward  to  the  hills.  And  now  all  eyes  were 
turned  to  that  central  rock  of  Solferino,  which  was  the 
key  and  pivot  of  the  whole  position,  where  the  Austrian 
flag  still  waved,  and  where  dark  masses  of  troops  covered 
every  rock  and  ruin,  and  crouched  under  every  old  wall 
and  tree.  This  was  now  to  be  carried,  for  on  this  the 
fate  of  the  battle  hung.  Already  it  had  been  assaulted 
more  than  once,  but  as  the  French  rushed  up  the  ascent, 
a flame  of  fire  smote  the  head  of  the  column,  like  the 
breath  of  the  Lord,  and  it  melted  away.  The  Austrian 
Jagers  fired  with  unerring  aim.  This  was  the  critical 
moment  of  the  battle,  when  the  Voltigeurs  of  the  Guard 


308 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


were  ordered  to  carry  the  position.  They  advanced  in 
the  face  of  a murderous  fire,  men  falling  at  every  step ; 
but  forcing  their  way  from  point  to  point,  with  a rush 
they  swept  over  the  hill. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Francis  Joseph,  with  his 
staff  around  him,  stood  on  the  hill  of  Cavriana,  two 
miles  in  the  rear,  from  which  he  had  watched  the  progress 
of  the  battle  with  the  most  painful  intensity  of  hope  and 
fear.  And  it  is  said  that  when  he  saw  Solferino  taken, 
his  manliness  forsook  him,  and  he  burst  into  tears,  and 
immediately  gave  orders  for  retreat. 

Still  all  was  not  lost,  if  the  different  corps  had  been 
disposed  so  as  to  support  each  other.  The  Austrians 
still  had  immense  reserves.  At  Volta,  but  five  miles 
distant,  stood  under  arms  fifty  thousand  men  with  a 
hundred  cannon,  which  were  not  brought  into  action  at 
all.  Had  these  been  massed  behind  Solferino,  they 
would  have  buttressed  that  strong  tower  of  defence,  and 
the  successive  attacks  might  have  dashed  themselves  in 
pieces  against  a position  that  was  impregnable.  But 
strange  to  say,  this  centre  of  the  whole  army  was  sup- 
ported by  no  unusual  strength,  so  that  when  the  line 
was  broken  there  was  nothing  to  fall  back  upon. 

Elsewhere  the  battle  still  raged  with  different  success. 
Hear  Peschiera,  along  the  Lake  Garda,  the  left  wing  of 
the  allied  army,  which  was  held  by  the  Sardinians,  was 
confronted  by  General  Benedek,  one  of  the  most  deter- 
mined officers  in  the  whole  Austrian  army,  who  not  only 


BATTLE  OF  SOLFEEINO. 


309 


held  his  position,  but  drove  back  the  enemy,  and  it  is 
said,  was  furious  when  he  received  the  order  to  retreat, 
and  broke  out  into  expressions  of  rage  against  the  Em- 
peror. But  there  was  no  alternative,  and  he  obeyed 
u with  tears.” 

Solferinu  was  carried  at  three  o’clock.  But  though  a 
retreat  was  ordered,  it  was  some  hours  before  such  an 
army  could  be  drawn  off  from  the  field.  Two  whole 
corps  were  ordered  forward  to  renew  the  attack,  to 
protect  the  retreat.  Boldly  they  advanced  to  the  shock, 
and  much  of  the  hardest  fighting  of  the  day  was  after 
the  day  was  given  up  as  lost. 

To  add  to  the  stern  magnificence  of  the  scene,  in  the 
afternoon  thick  clouds  gathered  over  the  field  of  battle, 
and  a thunderstorm  burst  upon  the  contending  armies, 
drowning  the  roar  of  cannon  by  the  crash  of  a louder 
artillery.  But  the  storm  passed,  and  the  sky  shone  clear, 
and  the  batteries  of  the  Sardinians  along  the  Lake  Garda 
played  incessantly  on  the  retreating  Austrians,  till  at  last 
night  closed  in  the  long,  tremendous  day. 

•The  battle  was  over,  but  not  all  its  horrors.  From 
early  in  the  morning  the  wounded  began  to  be  brought 
in.  Hour  after  hour  a mournful  procession  filed  into  the 
street  of  Castiglione.  A column,  miles  in  extent,  of 
mangled  and  bleeding  men  emerged  from  the  cloudy 
canopy  which  hovered  over  the  field,  and  dragged  its 
slow  length  along  to  the  village  in  the  rear,  here  to  lie 
down  in  hospitals,  in  churches,  in  inns  and  courtyards,  to 


310 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


suffer  or  to  die.  No  exact  return  of  the  killed  and 
wounded  has  been  given,  but  the  official  account,  doubt- 
less under  the  mark,  places  it  at  over  40,000 ! 

After  this  great  battle  there  was  a pause  of  a few  days. 
Both  armies  needed  rest  to  gather  up  the  wounded,  to 
bury  the  dead,  and  to  prepare  for  the  fresh  labors  of  the 
campaign. 

But  there  was  to  be  no  end  of  surprises.  At  this 
moment,  when  all  Europe  wras  fixed  in  attention  -waiting 
for  the  next  great  conflict,  suddenly  was  announced — an 
Armistice — followed  in  three  days  by  the  newrs  of  Peace  ! 
It  was  added  that  the  two  Emperors  had  met,  and  -what 
was  stranger  still,  that  this  interview"  and  this  sudden 
termination  of  the  war,  had  been  sought,  not  by  the 
defeated,  but  by  the  victor  in  the  campaign. 

It  was  on  the  6th  of  July  that  Napoleon  sent  his  aid, 
General  Fleury,  to  Verona  with  a letter  to  the  Emperor 
of  Austria,  requesting  an  interview".  The  proposal  natu- 
rally excited  much  surprise.  Yet  the  position  of  affairs 
was  too  critical  for  it  to  be  repulsed,  and  after  taking  a 
night  to  think  of  it,  Francis  Joseph  consented  to  meet 
Louis  Napoleon.  This  led  to  the  famous  meeting  of  the 
Emperors  at  the  village  of  Villafranca,  wrhere  an  hour’s 
conversation  led  to  an  armistice,  and  an  agreement  upon 
the  general  terms  of  peace. 

These  were  briefly : That  Austria  ceded  Lombardy  to 
France,  wrhich  transferred  it  to  Sardinia  ; that  Venice 
wTas  to  remain  to  Austria,  but  to  become  a part  of  an 


DISAPPOINTMENT  OF  THE  ITALIANS. 


311 


Italian  confederation — a project  which  the  two  Emperors 
engaged  to  favor,  placing  it  under  the  presidency  of  the 
Pope  ; and  that  both  should  use  their  influence,  so  far  as 
they  might  without  force  of  arms,  to  restore  the  exiled 
Grand  Dukes  to  their  states,  who  in  return  should  grant 
a general  amnesty  to  their  rebellious  people.  Such  were 
the  main  points.  The  details  of  a definite  treaty  of  peace 
were  to  be  settled  by  representatives  of  the  three  powers, 
who  should  meet  at  Zurich,  in  Switzerland. 

This  sudden  conclusion  of  peace  was  received  writh  as 
much  astonishment  as  the  sudden  outbreak  of  war. 
Following  so  soon  after  a great  battle,  it  confounded  all 
the  calculations  both  of  friends  and  foes.  From  all  Italy 
burst  forth  a cry  of  indignation.  It  was  a bitter  disap- 
pointment of  the  hopes  with  which  the  war  was  begun. 
Napoleon  had  entered  on  the  campaign  with  the  promise 
that  “ Italy  should  be  free  from  the  Alps  to  the  Adri- 
atic,” and  now  Venice  was  to  be  left  under  the  hated 
rule  of  Austria  ! The  Italians,  who  before  were  at  the 
highest  pitch  of  exultation,  were  now  plunged  into  the 
abyss  of  despair.  In  the  revulsion  from  wild  hopes  they 
felt  that  they  had  been  lured  into  the  war  only  to  be 
cheated,  and  their  rage  turned  against  the  ally  by  whom 
they  had  been  betrayed.  Napoleon,  who  had  entered 
Milan  after  the  battle  of  Magenta,  amid  transports  of 
enthusiasm,  returned  on  his  way  to  Paris,  and  passed 
through  it  in  mournful  silence.  So  changed  was  the  feel- 
ing of  the  nation,  and  so  great  the  disappointment  both  of 


312 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


Italy  and  of  France,  that  he  hastened  to  explain  the 
causes  of  the  sudden  suspension  of  arras.  Briefly,  they 
were  three:  That  the  great  object  of  the  war  had  been 
gained  in  breaking  the  power  of  Austria  in  Italy  ; that  it 
could  not  go  further  without  changing  from  a rapid  cam- 
paign in  the  field  to  a slow  war  of  sieges ; and  that  it 
would  involve  all  Europe. 

Thus  far  fortune  had  favored  the  allies.  They  had 
been  victorious  in  every  battle;  in  eight  short  weeks 
they  had  driven  the  Austrians  out  of  Piedmont  and  out 
of  Lombardy.  Now,  however,  they  were  no  longer  sure 
of  the  same  success.  The  enemy  was  at  length  inclosed 
within  his  league  of  fortresses.  The  war,  if  it  continued, 
must  be  changed  from  one  of  pitched  battles  to  one  of 
sieges,  which  might  be  as  prolonged  as  the  siege  of 
Sebastopol. 

Meanwhile  the  aspect  of  Europe  was  threatening. 
Germany  was  restless,  and  with  great  difficulty  had  been 
kept  from  rushing  to  arms.  Prussia  had  held  back,  but 
so  strong  was  the  national  feeling  in  favor  of  making 
common  cause  with  another  German  power,  that  she 
had  been  forced  to  place  her  army  on  a war  footing,  and 
prepare  it  to  take  the  field.  All  this  threatened  to  give 
the  war  colossal  proportions.  Napoleon  had  entered 
upon  it  with  the  determination  to  confine  it  to  Italy ; but 
if  it  went  on,  it  must  inevitably  involve  Germany.  France 
must  prepare  to  face  an  enemy,  not  only  on  the  Adige,  but 
on  the  Rhine.  She  would  raise  up  new  enemies,  and 


REASONS  FOR  THE  PEACE. 


313 


encounter  vastly  greater  odds.  And  not  only  in  the 
West,  but  in  the  East  of  Europe.  Already  Kossuth  was 
in  the  allied  camp,  and  Hungary  was  on  the  edge  of 
revolt.  Should  the  flame  of  rebellion  be  lighted  there, 
then  must  begin  a general  war  of  nationalities,  the  end 
whereof  no  man  could  foresee.  Looking  forward  to  such 
alternatives,  the  Emperor  thought  it  better  to  rest  con- 
tent with  what  was  already  gained,  than  by  grasping 
at  more  to  run  the  risk  of  losing  all. 

Who  could  say  that  he  did  not  judge  wisely  ? Li 
1849,  Austria  offered  Lombardy  to  Sardinia  as  the  price 
of  peace,  but  it  was  refused,  and  what  was  the  issue  ? 
Lombardy  paid  for  the  refusal  by  ten  years  more  of 
Austrian  tyranny.  Was  it  prudent  again  to  assume  such 
a fearful  risk  ? 

Happily  a few  months’  experience  sufficed  to  show  that 
Napoleon  never  acted  with  greater  political  sagacity 
than  in  putting  an  end  to  the  war  at  that  point.  The 
result  has  been  such  as  to  allay  the  gloomy  fears  of  the 
Italians,  and  to  realize  their  highest  hopes. 

On  the  7th  of  August  the  representatives  of  the  three 
powers  met  at  Zurich,  and  arranged  the  terms  of  a defi- 
nite Treaty  of  Peace.  Austria  formally  relinquished 
Lombardy  to  France,  which  by  a separate  treaty  with 
her  ally,  made  it  over  to  Sardinia,  and  the  project  of 
an  Italian  Confederation  was  again  considered  and 
approved. 

But  the  difficult  point  of  negotiation  was  the  return 

14 


314 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


of  the  Grand  Dukes,  who  having  suddenly  left  their 
capitals  at  the  beginning  of  the  wTar,  were  now  anxious 
to  get  back  again.  In  accordance  with  the  stipulation 
of  Villafranca  their  rights  were  “reserved,”  and  both 
governments  agreed  to  use  their  influence  to  secure  their 
restoration — but  not  by  force  of  arms.  On  this  point 
Napoleon  had  spoken  in  positive  terms.  To  the  Mayor 
of  Parma,  who  came  to  Paris  to  learn  the  fate  of  his 
country,  he  said  : “ Tell  the  populations  that  have  sent 
you  that  my  army  shall  never  do  violence  to  their  wishes, 
and  that  I will  not  permit  any  other  foreign  force  to 
commit  violence  against  you.”  This  was  all  that  was 
necessary  for  Italian  liberty,  as  it  left  the  people  masters 
of  their  own  destiny.  Accordingly,  votes  were  taken  as 
to  their  future  political  condition.  With  scarcely  a dis- 
senting voice,  Tuscany  declared  that  under  no  circum- 
stances whatever  would  she  consent  to  the  restoration  of 
the  Grand  Duke.  She  had  learned  to  distrust  the 
treacherous  race,  and  would  have  none  of  them — neither 
father  nor  son.  In  vain  they  implored  and  protested,  and 
promised  all  sorts  of  reforms  and  free  constitutions,  with 
a full  amnesty  for  past  rebellion.  The  people  would 
none  of  them.  Thanks  to  God  and  their  own  good 
swords,  they  had  no  need  to  ask  pardon  of  anybody, 
and  they  had  won  a better  title  to  liberty  than  any  Aus- 
trian duke  could  grant.  So  they  stood  firm  against 
entreaties,  menaces,  and  temptations. 

The  conduct  of  the  Italians  in  this  crisis  was  worthy 


TUSCANY,  PARMA  AND  MODENA. 


315 


of  all  admiration.  The  partisans  of  the  old  government 
had  represented  that,  as  Soon  as  the  people  were  left  to 
themselves,  they  would  fall  into  anarchy.  Yet  there  was 
no  violence,  no  disorder.  The  laws  were  perfectly  main- 
tained. Though  they  were  kept  for  months  in  a state  of 
suspense,  fitted  to  provoke  agitations,  yet  order  was 
everywhere  preserved — an  instance  of  self-control,  which 
showed  a people  worthy  to  be  free.  The  Italians  thus 
vindicated  their  character  in  the  eyes  of  all  Europe. 
They  proved  themselves  worthy  of  liberty  by  the  noble 
use  they  made  of  their  new-found  freedom. 

Again  the  partisans  of  the  old  authorities  industriously 
represented  that  the  votes  given  were  not  an  expression 
of  the  will  of  the  people,  but  of  a faction — that  there  was 
a reign  of  terror  which  stifled  the  utterance  of  the 
popular  will.  So  after  waiting  many  months,  giving  the 
agents  of  the  fallen  dukes  time  to  ply  their  arts  of 
intrigue,  the  thing  was  tried  again.  A second  time  the 
people  were  summoned  to  choose  their  rulers,  and  the 
result  was  overwhelming.  Never  was  there  a more 
august  or  solemn  expression  of  a nation’s  will.  By  a 
majority  so  immense  as  to  be  almost  unanimous,  Tus- 
cany, Parma  and  Modena,  voted  to  unite  their  fortunes 
with  their  brethren  of  Lombardy,  and  henceforth  to 
form  a part  of  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia,  under  the  rule 
of  Victor  Emanuel. 

And  not  these  states  alone,  but  a part  of  the  Pope’s 
dominions,  for  in  the  excitement  of  the  year  one  third  of 


316 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


the  Papal  states — the  provinces  lying  east  of  the  Apen- 
nines, called  the  Romagna,  including  Bologna  and  F errara, 
had  revolted  and  set  up  an  independent  government. 
Nor  was  the  feeling  allayed  by  an  attack  of  the  Swiss 
mercenaries  on  the  town  of  Perugia,  and  a barbarous 
massacre.  Thenceforth  reconciliation  was  impossible. 
The  poor  old  Pope  adjured  and  threatened,  and  coaxed 
and  flattered,  and  excommunicated,  but  still  his  refractory 
subjects  would  not  again  be  brought  under  his  domi- 
nion. 

With  the  last  vote  the  separation  was  complete.  The 
Romagna  decided  to  share  the  fate  of  her  sister 
states,  and  to  become  a part  of  Sardinia,  or  rather  of  the 
new  Kingdom  of  Northern  Italy.  The  offer  thus  coming 
from  a whole  nation  could  not  be  refused.  Victor 
Emanuel  accepted  the  united  crown,  which  can  now  be 
wrested  from  him  only  by  force  of  arms. 

So  far  then  as  these  states  are  concerned,  the  gain  to 
Italy  from  the  war  is  immense.  In  one  year  she  has 
made  more  progress  toward  constitutional  liberty  than 
in  centuries  before. 

There  remain  still  two  dark  shadows,  one  at  the  north- 
east, and  the  other  at  the  south  of  this  beautiful  Penin- 
sula— V enice  and  N aples.  V enice  is  still  under  the  yoke. 
We  mourn  the  fate  of  the  Queen  of  the  Adriatic.  Yet 
not  in  despair.  The  hold  of  Austria  is  not  at  all  secure. 
Where  the  people  are  in  a chronic  state  of  discontent, 
there  can  be  no  lasting  security.  Sooner  or  later,  Venice 


VENICE  AND  NAPLES. 


317 


must  follow  the  destiny  of  Lombardy.  Heaven  grant 
her  time  of  trial  and  of  waiting  may  not  be  long ! 

Naples  has  had  the  sad  preeminence  of  being  the 
worst  governed  state  in  Italy.  The  late  king  Bomba 
was  a monster  of  cruelty.  Italy  is  full  of  the  stories  of 
his  oppressions.  The  best  men  in  his  kingdom  were  shut 
up  for  yedrs  in  dungeons,  underground,  too  happy  if 
they  could  exchange  their  lot  for  one  of  exile.  But 
when  the  wretched  brute,  loathsome  with  disease,  at  last 
went  to  his  grave,  the  patriots  of  Naples  and  Sicily 
thanked  God  and  breathed  again.  But  he  left  a son  in 
his  likeness.  The  young  king  of  Naples  is  half  a fool  in 
intellect,  but  with  the  stupidity,  he  joins  also  the  narrow 
bigotry  and  mulish  obstinacy  of  his  race.  No  reforms 
are  granted,  no  conciliation  even  attempted.  Nothing 
but  a tighter  restraint,  which  grows  more  galling  day 
by  day.  These  things  must  work  their  own  cure. 
Already  Naples  begins  to  shake  with  the  throes  of  revo- 
lution. The  red  flames  which  nightly  cast  their  glare 
over  that  beautiful  bay,  tell  of  an  ever  burning  volcano 
at  hand,  which  may  whelm  villages  and  cities  in  ruin.  A 
just  God  marks  the  hour,  but  many  signs  tell  us  that  we 
shall  not  have  long  to  wait  for  an  explosion. 

Thus  has  the  sky  of  Italy  cleared  and  brightened  since 
that  warm  summer’s  day  when  we  strolled  along  the 
ramparts  of  Verona,  and  rode  past  the  walls  of  Pes- 
chiera,  and  over  the  plains  of  then  oppressed,  but  now 
liberated  Lombardy.  When  we  were  in  Milan  we  wit- 


318 


SUMMER  PICTURES. 


nessed  an  imposing  service  in  the  cathedral  in  honor  of 
the  birth  of  a son  to  the  Emperor  Francis  Joseph.  The 
old  Duomo  was  hung  with  Austrian  flags.  Less  than  one 
year  passed  from  that  day,  when  those  columns  were 
hung  with  other  banners,  as  Victor  Emanuel  entered 
under  the  lofty  arches,  and  listened  to  a solemn  service 
performed  in  memory  of  his  father,  Charles  Albert,  who 
had  sacrificed  his  throne  in  attempting  what  was  now 
achieved.  It  seemed  as  if  the  dead  king  might  feel  a 
joy  even  in  his  royal  tomb  at  this  final  accomplishment 
of  what  had  been  the  object  of  his  life. 

Now  we  behold  the  hour  for  which  Italy  has  so  long 
waited.  At  last  it  has  come.  Heaven  grant  to  the 
people  still  the  same  •spirit  of  union,  moderation,  and 
firmness ! If  so,  they  cannot  be  robbed  of  Liberty,  and 
with  Liberty  the  national  life  will  begin.  Commerce, 
Art,  and  Literature  will  revive.  This  marvellous  achieve- 
ment, the  new  creation  of  a whole  people,  is  due  to  the 
courage  of  the  Italians  themselves,  rallying  under  their 
leader,  Victor  Emanuel,  and  greatly  too,  to  their  allies, 
the  French,  nor  let  it  be  forgotten,  to  the  Emperor, 
Louis  Napoleon,  who,  whatever  be  his  crimes,  has  thus 
earned  at  least  one  title  to  the  gratitude  of  mankind — 
that  of  Liberator  of  Italy. 


THE  END. 


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iev.  George  B.  Taylor. 

The  Oakland  Stories. 

Kenny,  5 illustrations.  i6mo.,  . 

• • • 

5o 

Cousin  Guy,  5 illustrations.  i6mo., 
Gustave  (in press). 

• • • 

5o 

, T.  Trowbridge. 

The  Old  Battle  Ground.  i8mo.. 

5° 

Father  Brighthopes.  i8mo.. 

. 

5° 

Hearts  and  Faces.  i8mo.. 

. 

50 

Iron  Thorpe.  i8mo.. 

. 

5° 

Burr  Cliff*.  i8mo.,  . 

. 

50 

Mrs.  Thomas  Geldart. 

Daily  Thoughts  for  a Child.  i6mo.,  . 

50 

Truth  is  Everything.  i6mo.. 

50 

Emilie  the  Peacemaker.  i6mo.. 

50 

Sunday  Morning  Thoughts.  i6mo.,  . 

50 

Sunday  Evening  Thoughts.  i6mo.,  . 

50 

Popular  History  of  England.  i6mo.. 

75 

S.  G.  Goodrich  (Peter  Parley). 

The  Cottage  Library.  10  vols.,  i8mo.. 

• 3 75 

Picture  Play  Books.  4to.,  . 

75 

Francis  L.  Hawks,  D.D.,  LL.D. 


Richard  the  Lion  Hearted.  i6mo.,  . 

75 

Oliver  Cromwell.  i6mo.. 

75 

Aunt  Mary’s  Stories.  12  vols.,  . 

3 00 

The  Little  Commodore.  i6mo.. 

75 

A Treasury  of  Pleasure  Books.  Gilt, . 

1 50 

Indestructible  Pleasure  Books,  each. 

2° 

The  Illuminated  Linen  Primer,  . 

20 

The  Farmer  Boy’s  Alphabet, 

20 

The  Scripture  Alphabet, 

20 

Little  Annie’s  Ladder  to  Learning., 

40 

Child’s  Pleasure  Book, 

75 

The  Pretty  A.  B.  C.,  ... 

20 

Pleasure  Books  in  Colors,  each,  . 

13 

SfjeL&istt  (£©<.’$  S-tetL 


HOUSEHOLD  LIBRARY. 

Life  and  Martyrdom  of  Joan  of  Arc.  By  Michelet, 

Life  of  Robert  Burns.  By  Thomas  Carlyle, 

Life  and  Teachings  of  Socrates.  By  George  Grote, 

Life  of  Columbus.  By  Alphonse  de  Lamartine,  . 

Life  of  Frederick  the  Great.  By  Lord  Macaulay, 

Life  of  William  Pitt.  By  Lord  Macaulay,  . 

Life  of  Mahomet.  By  Gibbon, 

Life  of  Luther.  By  Chev.  Bunsen, 

Life  of  Oliver  Cromwell.  By  A.  de  Lamartine,  . 

Life  of  Torquato  Tasso.  By  G.  H.  Wiffen, 

Life  of  Peter  the  G reat.  Compiled  by  the  Editor,  2 vols.,  1 
Lire  of  Milton.  By  Prof.  Masson, 

Life  of  Thomas  A’Becket.  By  H.  H.  Milman,  D.D., 

Lite  of  Hannibal.  By  Dr.  Arnold, 

Lire  of  Vittoria  Colonna.  By  T.  A.  Trollope, 

Lire  of  Julius  Caesar.  By  Henry  G.  Liddell,  D.D., 

Lire  of  Mary  Stuart.  By  A.  de  Lamartine, 

SUNNY-SIDE  SERIES. 

Peep  at  No.  5.  By  Mrs.  E.  S.  Phelps, 

Tell  Tale.  “ " " . 

Last  Leaf  from  Sunny-Side.  By  Mrs.  E.  S.  Phelps. 

City  Side.  By  Cara  Belmont,  .... 


50 

5° 

50 

5° 

5° 

5° 

5° 

5° 

5° 

5° 

00 

5° 

5° 

5° 

50 

So 

5° 

50 

50 

50 

5° 


StjcE&otc  <®tc§>  (SoVeS  Steth 


John  F.  Stoddard,  A.M. 


Juvenile  Mental  Arithmetic, 

. • 

12 

American  Intellectual  Arithmetic, 

. 

20 

Practical  Arithmetic, .... 

. . 

40 

Philosophical  Arithmetic,  . 

. 

60 

Key  to  Intel,  and  Prac.  Arithmetic, 

• 

5° 

Stoddard  & Henkle  (Prof.  W.  D.) 

Elementary  Algebra,  .... 

. 

75 

University  Algebra,  .... 

• 

1 50 

J.  Russell  Webb,  A.M. 

Normal  Primer,  .... 

• • 

5 

Primary  Lessons,  a Series  of  three  Cards, 

• 

1 00 

The  Word  Method  Primer, 

• 

15 

Normal  Reader,  No.  l,  . . 

• « 

12 

Normal  Reader,  No.  2,  . . 

• * 

25 

Normal  Reader,  No.  3, 

• • 

38 

Normal  Reader,  No.  4,  . • • 

• e 

50 

Normal  Reader,  No.  5,  . . . 

• • 

75 

Edward  Hazen,  A.M. 

The  Speller  and  Definer,  . 

. 

20 

Symbolical  Spelling  Book.  Complete, 

• 

20 

“ “ “ Part  1st,  288  Cuts,  . 

10 

u “ “ Part  2d,  265  Cuts,  . 

* 

Stymm  <m§>  (S&’fl 


J.  L.  Dagg,  D.D. 

Elements  of  Moral  Science.  1 2mo.  . . .100 

Prof.  Jean  Gustave  Keetels. 

A New  Method  of  Learning  the  French  Language,  1 00 

A Collegiate  Course  in  the  French  Language,  . 1 00 

Key  to  the  New  Method,  .....  40 

Key  to  the  Collegiate  Course  (in  press). 

J.  R.  Loomis,  D.D. 

Elements  of  Anatomy,  Physiology,  and  Hygiene,  . 75 

Elements  of  Geology,  .....  75 

Oliver  B.  Goldsmith. 

Copy  Books  in  Five  Numbers,  each,  . . . 12 

Gems  of  Penmanship,  boards,  . . . . 2 00 

Double-Entry  Book-keeping.  8vo.,  ...  75 


Exhibition  Speaker,  Fitzgerald,  ....  75 

Normal  School  Song  Book,  . . . . 38 

History  of  the  United  States,  Peabody,  . . 75 

Nelson’s  Copy  Books,  5 numbers,  each,  . . 10 

United  States  Speller,  Miles,  . . , . 12 

Fitch’s  Mapping  Plates,  .....  30 

Parley’s  Geography,  . . . . . . 30 

The  University  Drawing  Book,  . . . . 3 50 


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